


The White Wolf and the Travelling Prince

by Tea_Queen_2112



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Game/TV elements, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Not Beta Read, PrinceJaskier!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_Queen_2112/pseuds/Tea_Queen_2112
Summary: Jaskier has been called back home to his home kingdom for sister's wedding. That means seeing his family for the first time in over twenty years. A normally painful affair but perhaps with his Witcher beside him, he'll survive the family affair. Geralt both has to deal with learning that Jaskier is royalty and how it changes their relationship.Whatever may happen the White Wolf refuses to leave the Prince's side.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 50
Kudos: 419





	1. The Royal Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for the Witcher fan base! So exciting. Sit back and enjoy.

The wooded area just on the outside of Vengeberg proved to be a boring spot as any. Trees that painted the sky green with their fanned brushes and muddied the boots of both the Witcher and the bard. The woods were at their thickest as far as they had travelled. Kaedwen was their intended destination, rumours of a monstrous beast stalking the local village had piqued the Witcher’s interest. People with coin were supposedly interested in hiring him. Now on the dry stone path, they were making their own way.

For their journey so far they’d continued their travels without much incident. The occasional wolf or vampire that would need slaying. Not much that required much energy. Geralt was almost feeling bored at the lack of things to do. Not that Witcher’s got bored, or felt any emotion. Besides annoyance for the bard currently strumming away beside him.

“Oh beauty of the morn’ so noble so strong, the knight o’ the knight, it couldn’t be wrong.”

The bard had often taken it upon himself to sing every step of the way on their journey much to the annoyance of everyone around them. Still, Jaskier was marvellous at earning coin for himself and that meant cheap food and drink. Good heart ale to drown himself in after a day of killing monsters while Jaskier would hop up upon the stage and do what he loved. It wasn't the life he'd expected to be living but alas it was the life that he now had. Despite it being different from what he imagined. A lot of things were different but he'd adjusted well to things. 

A small crack was heard in the distance. A twig perhaps. More low thunderous sounds followed soon after. Geralt’s head snapped up and look around the forest. He kept his eye trained on his sword and preparing. 

“Jaskier. Shut up.”

The scent was now distinguishable. The smelt of horses, four different ones. Four different riders. The scent of golden metal upon them was heavy. A strong chance of them being merchants however he couldn’t be certain.

Jaskier's head snapped around to Geralt. An offended look plastered upon his face. Akin to when he compared his singing to that of an unfilled pie. 

“What? You don’t think the lyrics are good? Well excuse me but I’m not taking music advi-” Geralt held his gloved hand over the bard’s mouth to stop him talking, regular means of asking wouldn’t be effective against a man like Jaskier. Jaskier attempted to bite Geralt’s hand away until he too could now hear the faint sound of riders. Now becoming aware of the situation he stopped his struggling. 

Jaskier squinted his eyes to try and get a better look at them. At the moment it was too far to call who they belonged to. 

Four men on horses approached closer, now that Jaskier could make it out with his human sight. Jaskier’s eyes widening upon seeing the horses adornments. Golden reigns and black and yellow chequered fabric underneath the saddle. Jaskier remaining silent as he pulled away from Geralt. Walking, almost stumbling, forwards towards the men. 

The men slowed their horses to a gentle canter as they approached the two, only coming to a full stop when they were in front of the two. 

The man on the piebald was definitely. He was sporting a pencil-thin moustache, too small for his rounded out face. He wore clothes that even Jaskier would have called a little excessive. Draped in one colour of every fabric. Geralt stood tall but stood steadfast. Even while the man sat on the horse Geralt still stood taller. The man pushed his glasses up his nose. He took a better look at the pair of them. The man turned to his saddlebag, pulling out a small stash of papers and flicking through them. Jaskier waiting in anticipation, Geralt wondering what trouble his bard had put them in now. All of the men seemed to take a great look to look at Geralt’s silver broach, seemingly comparing to a drawing. Geralt no longer looking his two swords, if they were to engage in a fight it would be over before it had begun. 

“Thank goodness I’ve found you but just to be on the safe side I must ask one thing. Are you the Witcher known as Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf?” The man asked as he read the name off the parchment, flicking to another page. 

Geralt remained silent. Jaskier nodded his head and the man pulled out a quill to tick beside the Witcher’s name. 

“And are you the Bard known as Julian Alfred Pankratz?”

“That I am. What can we do you lovely kingsmen for?”

The next scroll that was pulled out was one sealed with gold wax and a red ribbon. Julian looking very intensely on the scroll before looking back to the man, giving him a nod before looking between Jaskier and the man on the horse. The leader now holding out a royal announcement scroll in front of him. 

“By royal decree, we have been asked to deliver you a royal invitation. The Queen of Verden invites you to the wedding of her daughter. The Wedding of Princess Renira of Verden and Lord Elian of Maribor. You and your Witcher are both invited to come. The presence of the Witcher is not required however by the professional courtesy of Queen Melantha of Verden she has extended the invitation.”

Geralt whispered quietly to himself. The idea of another bloody banquet was already causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head. Looking to Jaskier to answer the man. Only to watch Jaskier fumble for the right words. 

“Ah.” Jaskier finally ended up saying. 

Geralt raised an eyebrow to Jaskier’s inability to come up with a witty response. The men all look around expecting at least on the two men to say anything.

“All the information is on the scroll. I would suggest you travel to Verden now if you are to make it to the pre-wedding banquet in time. Now, gentlemen, my men and I have many other errands to run for Queen Melantha so if you have anything else to ask do it now if not we’ll be on my way.” 

“Ah. Wonderful. Very good. Thank you for coming all this way. I’ll get right on that. We will let you get on your way.” Julian said. 

The men bid their adieu and went riding back from where they had come from. Geralt had mounted back onto roach and only rode a couple of metres before realising the bard wasn’t walking beside him, frantically explaining what the hell it was all about. 

Now the men were gone and it was just the three of them alone. With no further business to be conducted Geralt too his horse and rode onwards. He slowed her down, waiting for Jaskier to catch up. Even when he had Roach neigh to get his attention he still remained, looking at the scroll. Typically the Witcher would never be the one to start the conversation. In this particular case, however, the bard’s silence was not appreciated. 

“Do you make it a habit to be invited to Royal banquets?” 

Jaskier would have mocked the Witcher making a playful joke. It was if the note was somehow an entity that had drained all of Jaskier’s energy from him. The man who would have such colour in his face looked pale in complexion. Seemingly Geralt had snapped him out of his trace, realizing where he was. 

Jaskier rolled up the scroll, tying the red ribbon back around the invitation.

“I’m trying not to. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to set this invitation alight. Then we’ll be on our way to Kaedwen to fight monsters and entertain taverns with tales of your heroics.” The laugh that followed somewhat unnerved the Witcher. 

Jaskier was gathering up the twigs and bits and other assortments, arranging them into a small campfire. Their planned stop wasn’t meant to be for the next couple of hours. Geralt found him quite pitiful as he gathered small sticks and twigs, arranging them on a dry part of the road. Having quite enough of the display before him Geralt snatched the invitation from Jaskier’s hand, Geralt choosing to hold it over his head to annoy the bard. Jaskier tried to reach up and grab it back. Tried. His arms too short to reach.

Geralt taking a look at the invitation. The parchment had all the markings of a legitimate royal paper. Not that four random men had given them a falsified document. 

“This letter was of Royal Decree. It would be unwise to burn it Jaskier.”

Geralt did find the occasional amusement at getting a rise out the bard. There was just something so interesting about riling up someone normally so chipper. Jaskier was beginning to getting snappy at this point, pouting like a child. 

He wasn’t sure what he felt towards him. He didn’t know emotions such is this but he did know he enjoyed his company. Tormenting him was also something he enjoyed doing. The playfulness in it made his content. It made him feel as though he’d had a nice warming ale in his gut. 

“You don’t miss much Witcher. That’s my mother for you. Always does know how to send a message. And can you believe she sent men as well to ensure I got the letter? The absolute nerve of that woman I swear. Not just one man! Four! Four men.” His attempts to get the letter futile. 

Jaskier pretended to act as though he hadn’t just dropped a major bombshell. Geralt felt a shock-induced rage. Both that he’d never mentioned it to him before, more importantly, he felt rage at himself that he’d never taken it upon himself to ask. All this time and not once he’d thought to ask about Jaskier’s life before his barding. 

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by his collar. He had a flash of anger on his face, dropping the letter in the process. 

“All the times you run your fucking mouth and yet you’d never mentioned you’re related to fucking royalty. Fucking hell Jaskier.” He released him when he saw the shock upon his face. Jaskier scoffed at Geralt, rolling his eyes. 

“Hardly. I’m a sixth child. Why do you think I was allowed to go with you? Sixth children don’t get many responsibilities. Especially if they have two older brothers. I’m the second youngest for pities sake.”

“Dammit, Jaskier. I’ve been harsh but for good reason. What if you’d gotten killed while travelling? Would I be blamed for failing to protect a Prince of Verden?”

Jaskier appreciated his stoic way of showing his appreciation. 

“They know I’ve done this at the risk of my own head. If I die I’ll go out in glory. The Witcher’s Bard. I’ll never see the crown in my lifetime so I have no reason to stay. Besides my studies took me to Oxenfurt and well from there I travelled the world. Mother was too focused on her other children to give a horses arse about me.” His words sharp. 

Geralt rubbed his face. As much as he wasn’t interested he did have a particular curiosity towards his past. Well, now that he knew he had a past. 

“Who?” Geralt asked. 

“Who? You’re not a bloody owl Geralt. Use your words.” He said again with the snapping. 

“Who all is in your family? I won’t make you go if they’re unkind. But I’d like to know if this bridge is really worth burning.”

Jaskier’s uncertainty made Geralt very curious. He wouldn’t put him through the necessary pain. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember what his own mother looked like. It all seemed like a blur but one thing he never forgot was the pain, the confusion and the aftermath of one of the worst days of his life. 

Jaskier leaned against roach for support. 

“They’re not unkind to me. In fact, they’re good people. Some of the best people. Always do right by their people. The whole kingdom is independent. Regardless of Cintra or Nilfguard. I just so happen to feel like a songbird born to harpies. I regret leaving when I did but I fear if I go back what they will say.”

“Tell me more about them.”

He rubbed his hands together with uncertainty. He hadn’t told anyone about his status as a prince for many years. When he was first touring he used to in the hopes his reputation would already get off to a flying start but people didn’t seem to care about titles when it came to entertaining them. He couldn’t blame them for wanting a break from the dramatics of royalty. 

Geralt of Rivia of all people was asking him to open up? The irony wasn’t lost on him but he supposed that the truth was bound to come up eventually. 

“Mother is, as you heard, the regal Queen of Verden. Father is...No longer with us. Mother remarried a widower king a few years after. Bloody boring bastard but I can’t accuse him of being cruel or abusive. My six siblings all work in different parts of the kingdom. Well, Adiris doesn’t but I wouldn’t expect her to.”

Geralt could hardly imagine even having one sibling. The idea might have appealed to him once long ago but that hope was long since thrashed. “Is that so? Six siblings.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat. Or two. Geralt steps were small but the fact he was taking those steps meant the world to him. Not that he and the White Wolf were in love. More accurately it’s not like the White Wolf was in love with him. Still to know he was trying to learn was huge for him.

“The seven children of Queen Melantha. Igri is the oldest. He’s my brother but he’s prepping to take over from my mother. If my brother was born a girl he’d be the twin of my mother. Cold but fair.”

“And the others?”

“Renira was born next. It’s her wedding we’ve been invited to. Marron, Joran, Drif and Adiris are the rest of them. Adiris is the youngest. The rest of them are all wonderful in their own ways. Marron is an arsehole but I wouldn’t expect anything else from him.”

Geralt had enough of royalty for his lifetime. The Lioness of Cintra had proved more than enough to handle and then having being recognised in such a ridiculous outfit was, even more, blows to his esteem. He’d never set foot in Vender but he was sure that all royals were the same everywhere. 

Jaskier playfully slapped Geralt on the cheek twice. 

“I see those inner cogs working. Don’t you worry a single silver hair on that pretty little head of yours. We’re not going. We have much else to be doing.”

Jaskier was lying to himself. He knew rightly they had nothing better to be doing. He didn’t know where Yennefer was. There was always something to be done when the Witch was about. Either she’d make a mess and they’d have to fix it for her or she’d be doing something and they’d offer their services to her. 

“Tell me one thing we have to do?” Geralt asked. Only one single thing shouldn’t have been such a hard task. 

Jaskier fumbled for something. 

“I...”

“Your sister is getting married and yet you wouldn’t go?” Geralt’s tone was soft but questioning. 

Even this behaviour was unusual from Jaskier. While Geralt had never asked about his family he’d simply assumed from his personality he’d come from a close-knit home. How else would he be allowed to travel so freely and be so carefree about things? 

“I would prefer not to go back there.”

“Judging by the letter you don’t have a choice.”

Jaskier sighed. He kicked the twigs he’d gathered, scattering them.

“A sharp and true point,” Jaskier said, looking at the parchment again. He felt the defeat sink deep into his chest. He’d take one day with his Witcher over a week of his own family. He felt cruel for thinking this way but he couldn’t deny what he knew to be true. 

“Knowing my mother I don’t. Have a choice I mean. Well, I’d best be off. Goodbye Geralt of Rivia. May our paths cross again. You’re always welcome to rest and bread in the kingdom of Verden.”

“You’re leaving on your own?” Geralt’s eyebrow raised. 

“Well, you’re hardly going to want to come considering the last time I accidentally got you stuck with a child surprise. I’m still sorry about that.” He said with his back turned to Geralt, he didn’t know why he turned his back. It wasn’t like the Witcher could care about his quivering lip. 

“You almost got skewered.” He understated. A plot of romance and curses brought to life, two wedding announcements and a miniature battle all topped off with a surprise pregnancy. All in the one blood afternoon. 

Thinking back on it, he really should have thought something would go wrong. Jaskier had an unknown magnet for things like danger. The fact he sounded so sure of his decision didn’t go over Geralt’s head. This entire situation was not only strange 

If he wasn’t so flabbergasted she would have said something or at least tried. Jaskier was still going around as he picked up the rest of his things

“That too Geralt. And I still graciously thank you for that but I must depart.”

Jaskier took his bag form off Roach’s back, giving the girl his last apple for all of her good work. He’d miss her silent company most of all. The sweet girl who Geralt seemed to like more than him. A pity but he understood. Roach was silent. 

Geralt petted Roach’s mane. Her head nudging his arm towards Jaskier. Geralt looking down at the old girl. He didn’t need to be a mage to figure out what she was trying to tell him. 

“Roach...seems to think there’ll be something for us in Verden. Everywhere needs monster killing.”

“What made you change your tune? You hate Balls and Banquets. I mean it Geralt, you don’t have to come.”

“If I...My own mother...I knew her only for a short time”

People didn’t need to be with the man for long to tell that he had issues regarding his parents. Just even by looking at the way he dressed Jaskier knew no loving or self-respecting parent would let their child dress up like that. 

Geralt placed a hand on his broad shoulder, Jaskier looked back. He signed and put his bag down. Jaskier should have considered himself lucky. To have so many siblings he could call upon at any one time. Witcher’s led such lonesome lives, perhaps a song or two could be written about it. 

“I...I left for so long.” 

“They sent 4 men to make sure you got the message. They want you there.” Geralt reassured him. 

Geralt had no reason as to why he was talking Jaskier into this. Perhaps the boredom was so great that even the banquet was preferential to being alone in the woods for much longer. As much as he tolerated the bard’s signing a whole week of travelling just between the two of them would be something he wouldn’t want. Besides seeing the bard upset was...undesirable. 

Jaskier adverted his eyes downwards, so seldom he spoke of his past. 

The Witcher’s words were filled with wisdom. If this perhaps was an invitation to fix things then he couldn’t simply ignore it. Regardless of what he felt for his mother he still supposed it had been a while since he’d seen his siblings. Though not desirable, he’d grown used to his life with Geralt in this strange world. It was a continuous cycle of monsters and murder, reward and punishment, love and death. 

“I see. Thank you, White Wolf. I must warn you. What you’ve been through so far has been a shepherd’s field compared to my mother’s Lion den. My siblings are easily dealt with but my mother...well you’ll see.”

“Sounds like a fine woman. Perhaps I will enjoy meeting her.” 

Jaskier scoffed, placing a single hand on his hip. The second joke he’d made in the span of 10 minutes. The second time around he found his lips curling into a smile. Albeit a small one. 

“You may fuck all the tavern wenches and deranged witches you like but you will not fuck my mother. I don’t care how great a song I could write about it. You will not.”

Geralt smirking as Jaskier tried his best to be threatening. 

“Don’t dress me up like a bloody silk trader again and I won’t.” He spoke, gruff as always. 

“I promise.”

Geralt, Jaskier and Roach went on their way to the Verden. The White Wolf and the Travelling Prince.


	2. The Merchant's Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt enters the city with Jaskier and finds things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Thank you guys so much for the feedback. I'm so happy!!!!!!! So yeah I've been convinced to do a full fic and since it's going to be a full thing this chapter has a lot of set up for future events/world building but it balances it out with Geralt being protective and Jaskier yearning . Short 'n' Sweet.

Passing through the cities main kingdom Geralt was surprised at it. They had arrived at the heart of the Kingdom. Where Queen Melantha sat upon her throne. The city walls stood tall and armed, large stones and even larger mechanised crossbows littering the top of the walls. It was like a smaller version of Cintra with the way it was styled. 

Both had come into the city in cloaks. Jaskier had been insistent that they conceal their identities until reaching the castle. While he doubted many people would recognise him he’d rather not have the chance for the Queen to be informed beforehand. 

While passing Jaskier could see the sights of his home. He’d grown up knowing his way around these streets. Finding a new lover on every corner. As a child he’d always had this silly fantasy of seeing a girl with red hair, doing something practical, like the daughter of a bread maker or a milkmaid. He’d see her face and it would be love at first sight. It would expand into a forbidden love like in all the stories he’d read. The Prince and the Maid would have made a wonderful bard tune. 

While his fantasy woman never appeared in the alley or the corner steps he could always just look to his right and get that same rush of euphoria. 

Upon coming to the merchant’s square they heard yelling. When they came upon the screen an elderly preacher stood on a crate.

“Her child Adiris is a plague. All of her children are rodents. Renira sold to a lowly lord like a broodmare. Marron a drunken mess who’s ruining the sailor’s ports and their livelihoods. The Queen is a whore. Like mother like son. Though I do not blame him with an inch of my heart for running away from her iron fist. That villainous witch would drive anyone away.”

Jaskier tried to advert his eyes. Geralt’s hand reaching for his long sword before Jaskier pressed the back of his hand against the stoic man’s abdomen. Both of them ignoring the laughs from the people listening, his head shaking.

The only thing Geralt disliked more than the man spewing the words was the listening audience he seemed to have gathered. Mostly boys of a young age listening to his words, more like he was poisoning them with the spectacle. Jaskier seemed remarkably calm but if their travels had taught Geralt one thing it was that Jaskier was engulfed with rage for the man on the crate. 

With much hesitation, Geralt moved his hand back down but the tension was still tethered to his shoulders. Roach pulling them both forwards on, Jaskier grateful for her assistance as always. 

Travelling through the rest of the city was uneventful. The day was just beginning and the sun was out. Many people seemed to be going about their business as usual. The market was thriving much to Geralt’s surprise but to Jaskier, more of his old memories were being thrust to life. Looking down Geralt could see the nostalgic look glossing over Jaskier’s brown eyes. 

Geralt finding it somewhat cute how the bard was so struck with the memories of his past. The bard speechless for the first time in many days. Jaskier was so lost in thought he didn’t recognise the number of people who had begun to stare at them. The people of Verden were unused to seeing a Witcher so close. 

They hadn’t had good food in at least a week. Geralt craved some food and for that, the market wasn’t lacking. Geralt was hoping that Jaskier would be able to pick out a stall that would get them something hearty for cheap. Ale or Meat. 

Naturally with all the merchants there with such a wide range of food available Jaskier went to the one merchant which mattered the most. 

The man had an eye like a hawk for the table that had all kinds of instruments and other assortments on it. He noted that though there was a wide selection Jaskier seemed to be focusing on one specifically. Geralt raised an eyebrow to his unusual choice. The lute was red, hand-painted with golden strings. The thing that made this special was the intricate gold leaf design that covered the body of the instrument. Geralt didn’t often care for all things flashy but he had to admit he could see the beauty in such an instrument. Even more so in the bard playing it. 

“How much for the lute? The one with the gold leaf.” Jaskier asked the seller. 

“5 Ducats.” He responded in a nasal like voice. 

“Oh! Shit. Do you take coppers and crowns?” Jaskier pulled out his cloth purse. The man simply scoffed and shook his head. Geralt was sure that Jaskier could handle the situation on his own but he didn’t stray far from the men. 

“Stall rules. Ducats only. I am the only instrument seller in the kingdom and you’re trying to rob me.”

Jaskier’s mouth hung open widely. He stumbled for his words but he took a moment to breathe. If he was going to meet his family again he had to remember how to act diplomatically. While he was sure no one would recognise him there could always be a chance. Least of all he needed the extra attention. A phrase he’d never thought he’d even think about. 

“Please! I’m picking it up as a gift. I have enough crowns to make up 50 Ducats. The bakers can trade it if you need.”

The seller got up with a huff, trying to shove Jaskier away. Only when the man became physical was Geralt turning his head. 

“If you don’t have the coin get the fuck away. Think I’ll give it to you just because you’re a bard. All bards are the same. You think you can use your charm and get things cheaper. Pathetic.”

Geralt sighed. He moved beside a clearly frustrated Jaskier and stood tall over both of them. The seller bracing himself seeing the hunter approach. 

“Jaskier, is this man a problem?”

Those yellow eyes of his burned into the seller’s soul while Jaskier looked up to Geralt. The seller’s face brightened up instantly. “Forgi-ve me I seem to have forgo-tten my manners. Please. I’ll only charge one crown for the lute. I’ll even add a ribbon free of charge.”

The man graciously accepted the single crown and handed the instrument to Jaskier. The two left before any further incidents took place, Geralt sending one death like glare back to the merchant before they were out of their view. 

For the whole of the walk back to his horse, Jaskier didn’t stop beaming at the instrument. He was bloody pleased with himself. 

“Is that man really the only seller in the kingdom?” Geralt asked. 

“Afraid so. Believe me, his father was a lot worse. If you want music and joy you came to the wrong place. We only have one theatre and it’s on the other side of the bloody kingdom. From here it’s about a four days journey. Then again I was a bit of a wild teen. Used to steal from that stall all the time.”

For that reason, Geralt could understand why Jaskier left but he suspected that it wasn’t just the lack of theatres that caused him to leave. So far the kingdom posed many interesting questions. 

“Thank you. I’d be dead without that brooding face of yours. I don’t know about yourself but I thoroughly enjoyed the way he shit himself.”

Geralt returned the smile only for a moment. The smile that plucked at Jaskier’s tender heartstring. Jaskier’s face turning light pink from the sheer overwhelming sensation he got seeing his beloved smile. He held the lute tight to his chest. 

The Witcher wished he could have expressed that it was the exact same emotion he felt when he saw Jaskier beaming at the lute. If only he knew how. Geralt sighed as he took the lute from Jaskier and placed it on his own back. The safest place in the world. 

“Well then with all said and done onwards to the Castle.” Jaskier said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Geralt has the good fortune to meet one of Jaskier's siblings. Will be up within the next week


	3. The Stables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt of Rivia meet Princess Renira

If the bard was stressed there wasn’t a person in the whole land who didn’t know about it. Jaskier had remained as talkative as ever, to the common eye he seemed like his usual self but Geralt knew better. 

“What do we do now?” Geralt asked, demounting off of Roach, taking her by the reins. 

“I don’t think I should greet my mother in these bard clothes. She always disapproved of my barding. I would also like to surprise her if we are to build these bridges again. I still have two clean shirts so I’ll try both of them.” He said. He pulled his clothing from Roach’s bag. 

“Then why are we in the fucking stables?”

Looking around they were surrounded by many horses contained within the walls. Jaskier had been at the gates with him but he’d led Geralt down a path to the left. Jaskier may have been gone for the past twenty years but things hadn't changed all that much. 

There were at least five horses in the stables At times like this Geralt regretted the part of the Witcher ritual that granted heightened smell. 

“Forgive me for wanting our dear Roach to be comfortable. We’ll be in the castle a while. I’m going to go to a stall and change. Shan’t be too long. Oh while I’m changing could you get the lute out of my bag? The red one?”

Geralt shook his head but obliged. If he was going to be back he simply had to make his grand entrance for the whole kingdom. He wouldn’t be Jaskier if he didn’t have a flair to his outfits. 

Speaking of appearance Jaskier couldn’t help but note Geralt. Geralt’s hair had echoes of pure snow as it was lit by the morning sun. Those yellow eyes were so vibrant in the light. The temptation was there to ask Geralt to join him in the stall. The temptation was so strong and sweet. Alas even for someone as cocky as himself, he wasn’t that brave. Geralt nodded and Jaskier took his clothes away. He didn’t see the way Geralt never took his eyes off of him. 

Geralt took the lute out of the bag and placed it on his back. Looking around at the stables he found mild amusement in everything. A Prince of the kingdom changing in a shit-filled horse stable. Geralt personally had found it hard to even fit in among the royals but he couldn’t imagine what was going through Jaskier’s head. All these years of travelling and getting in pub fights only to get back into an almost forgotten mind-set. 

Prince Julian. 

To now having to call this nuisance at his side a Prince. Having to correct himself if he said Jaskier instead of Julian or his highness. From the way the man acted you’d have a vague hint of royalty but everything else about his mannerisms screamed lowborn. In a strange way, Geralt almost didn’t want him to change. Jaskier was fine and in Geralt’s opinion, he didn’t think anything needed to change about that. Not his style, his sweetness and certainly not his singing. 

Geralt brought Roach over to one of the empty stalls. She helped herself to the fresh hay. He was brushing her mane when he first heard it. A horse was coming down the dust lane, someone was about to come in. 

A fine steed came trotting into the stalls. The woman on top of the horse reminded him somewhat of Yennefer. Much like the Witch she had a powerful aura about her. She wore a yellow laced bodice with tanned riding gear. A brunette with dark eyes and a seemingly familiar smile. Geralt’s eyes squinting as he took in her features. If his assumption was correct he already knew who she was. 

She brought her horse gently into the stall 5 down from Roach and Geralt. Still not noticing them. He supposed it was better that he get her attention now rather than giving her a heart attack.

He cleared his throat with a gruff cough.

Despite his attempt to make it easier it was fair to say she was a little bit startled. Seeing a big man she’d never seen before lurking around the horses. Her hand moving onto the handle of her sword. 

“You’re not castle staff.” She said, her voice low. A cute attempt to be intimidating. A valid attempt but still nothing to be threatened with.

Geralt remained silent. He turned to face her and she could finally get a good look at the pin on his chest. The wolf emblem there in plain silver against his black leather. The silver was especially noticeable with the sun reflecting off of it. Any anxiety melted away from the woman's face when she saw those yellow eyes of his. 

“A Witcher. Bloody hell I thought you might have been an intruder. You scared the shit out of me.”

She was quite tall, almost as tall as he was, judging by the step she took towards him she almost reached his nose. 

“I’m sorry Witcher but as far as we know we have no monsters in need of slaying. You’ve made a wasted journey. Unless someone called you?” She inquired. 

“Are you Princess Renira?” 

She nodded. 

Finally with his assumption proved correct he let his shoulders relax. “I’m here for your wedding.” 

“My wedding? I didn’t invite you.” 

The more he looked at her features the more he saw the familial resemblance between the two. Cheeks with the almost invisible dimples, the wavy, luxurious hair and most obviously bastard smile. Geralt would be the last to admit it but almost instantly he was captivated by her. The light highlighting her face. 

“Are you going to play the lute on your back? That's why we invited you? A musical hunter? What kind of Witcher carries a lute with him? I mean do you actually sing that one song of your peop-”

Her barrage of questions was replaced with stunned silence. Geralt watched the realization dawning on her like a morning sun. Her laugh stifled through her fingers. He’d almost forgotten he’d placed the rather obvious lute on his back.

“Oh, you must forgive my stupidity, Geralt of Rivia. I didn’t expect my brother to actually attend. And with his Witcher in tow no doubt. You're as impressive as I’ve heard. Where is my brother?” She asked very quickly. Perhaps quick-talking was also another family trait that they shared. That along with constant questioning. 

A bang came from the other side of the room, Jaskier strutted out of the stall wearing a rather regal looking shirt. The other one slung over his shoulder. 

“Geralt! Geralt! Come tell me what you think of this shirt. I like this one the best. The other one is a bit too plain but you be the judge. I know you’ll be honest.”

He froze on the spot upon seeing his sister beside the Witcher. Jaskier couldn't contain his smile and nor could Renira. All the emotions of Twenty years all exchanged on their faces within a couple of seconds. Tears almost forming in both of their eyes. Jaskier wasted no time in enveloping his sister in a big hug. Renira squeezed the air out of Jaskier’s lungs, hands wrapping around his torso. 

He coughed as she let him go, rubbing a hand over his chest. 

“My god it’s been years. You’ve gotten taller.” Jaskier said. Looking up to his sister who was roughly a good 3 inches towering over him. All he could do was feel joy at seeing her again, losing all words in favour of action. 

“Julian! Oh, baby brother.” She eyed her brother up and down before her face dropped, a small frown forming on her face. 

”Oh,” She said, her disappointment evident. “I must say you’ve gotten flatter.” 

Jaskier turned to look at himself, focusing on his backside. He saw no reason for her to call him flat. “Flatter? How am I flatter? Geralt will agree I’m not flat. Won’t you Geralt?” The Witcher just shrugged, Jaskier huffed at the minor betrayal, and he was almost tempted to stick out his tongue. 

“Flatter to the ground.” She explained.

The spark of mischief beamed in her eyes, replacing her pretend sadness. She made a quick dash to Jaskier but he was clearly already expecting her tricks. Jaskier bolted from Geralt’s side.

“Renira no! This is a clean shirt! I haven’t seen our mother yet. I only have this and one other shirt.” He screamed as he evaded her grasp. 

The two ran about the stable while Geralt watched the two of them. In any other circumstance, he would have seen the display as childish and he’d have made a grunt of displeasure but seeing all the worry dissolve from Jaskier’s face couldn’t help but make him feel a glowing warmth.

“Well, then you should have thought of that baby brother.” She replied. 

Alas, trying to escape was fruitless. She tackled him with a second hug. Geralt observed that if Jaskier inherited the musical ability in the family then Renira definitely got the strength. The tackle would definitely cause a bruise or two. Geralt just watched the sibling’s shenanigans going on before them. There was a sort of amusement in seeing royals at their most human. Like seeing a wordy philosopher cuss for the first time. 

His shirt was now covered in straw and horse muck. Jaskier gagging as he pulled the shirt to examine it. His sister rolled her eyes as she extended her hand out to him, pulling him up from the dirty floor. 

Geralt helped to dust the straw off his shirt. Jaskier would have protested saying it wasn’t that bad but then again feeling the Witcher’s strong hands touching him wasn’t a problem. Even if it wasn’t much it still felt comforting. The pink in his cheeks would simply be blamed on his embarrassment. 

“You look well aside from the horse shit. I’ve already met your Witcher. Didn’t expect you to be into the silent type? Then again you did write two songs about him. Glad it worked out in the end by the way.” 

Jaskier almost didn’t know what she meant for a moment until it clicked in his head what she meant. He’d only gotten to perform ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ for about two weeks before he and Geralt amended from their disagreement. Others throughout the land had begun performing the song of heartache. Its power rippled across the land as it filled taverns with tears and applause. Despite the lack of entertainment it somehow managed to reach Verden through royal banquets. 

“Two songs?” Geralt asked. He didn’t have to be a mage to figure out what the song was about. That being said it was irresistible to pretend like he didn’t have the smallest inkling as to what the second one could have been. Watching the bard fluster as he panicked. 

“Well if I met another chatty person we’d drown each other out. Wouldn’t we Geralt?” He said abruptly, eyes rushing back and forth between her and Geralt. 

Jaskier’s hand gesturing to him, Geralt grunted and his point was proven. 

“How are you more to the point?” Jaskier leaned on a stall door. “Soon to be married. Lord Elion. Is he a good man?” Jaskier asked. More so he’d realised that he hadn’t been able to even meet him let alone be there for the engagement party. So much to discuss. Twenty years’ worth of stuff to discuss. 

“I’m bringing my husband a Barghest pelt from the woods, he’s on a different hunt to find me a basilisk hide. Wedding gifts. I’d say we get along rather well.”

Geralt gave a respectful nod towards her. It wouldn’t have been as easy to hunt a barghest with only 6 people in a hunting party, smelling at least 6 different scents from the horse alone. As much as he disliked royals he had to remember that they were related to Jaskier and if they were anything like Jaskier well then...they’d be the best people he’d ever met. Even if he was hesitant to admit that.

“And our siblings?”

“Marron is still lord of the docks. More like lord of the dicks the way he’s been acting recently. Word of warning he’s only gotten worse. The bloody idiot has a wife and they still haven’t consummated. He says his cock is too big for her.”

Jaskier’s eyes rolled. Twenty years went by and he still hadn’t grown up. On the list of his siblings, Marron was the one he was least looking forward to seeing again. 

“Igri, Joran, Drif and Adiris?” Jaskier asked. Saying all those names again made it feel all the more real. If seeing his sister had choked him up the rest would be a full throttling. 

“Igri is busy with Cintra business, a new business to help young and vulnerable people in both kingdoms. He’ll be back soon. Joran has been working out an agreement with the Brotherhood, he won’t be back in time sadly. Drif has found pride in working with the local farmers, developing new food and plants. We haven’t faced a single famine thanks to him. And Adiris...well she’s learning how to ride.”

Jaskier felt the fond smile creeping on his face. 

A gasp came from Renira. “She’s just had her 7th birthday. Did you bring her a gift? Please tell me you remembered.”

“Of course I got her a gift. I'm not an animal. It’s her very own lute! She’ll learn to play in no time. If she’s gifted she’ll be able to play by ear. I thought it looked good enough for a princess.”

He took the red lute with the gold leaf from Geralt’s back. He held it out for his sister to revel in. Her face a mix of hesitation and awkwardness. Her hand gently strumming the strings. She closed her eyes and sighed, pulling her hand down from the instrument. 

“I...I am so sorry Jaskier. Adiris lost her hearing in her left ear.”

All the nostalgic bliss he’d been feeling was snapped away in an instant. Jaskier seemed to falter for a moment. 

A part of him knew something like this would have happened. He was naive to think otherwise.

How much else had he missed in the meantime? He couldn’t imagine poor Adiris all alone like that. All the times when she was a baby he’d play for her, letting her play along as she’d bang on a child-size drum. Jaskier’s breathing lost its rhythm as he swayed. The Witcher came to his side to help support him. The Bard felt he should have been called home sooner. Hell, he should have been sent a letter at the bare minimum to let him know his sister was wounded. By all the gods Jaskier felt like the worst person in the world

Jaskier looked back and took a deep inhale. The softest word escaping his lips. “How?”

“Mother and the Royal physician gathered us around the table one morning and said she’d had an accident while playing. She can still enjoy your gift I’m sure. Her right ear is still functioning. Mother did try and send a message.”

Geralt saw how Jaskier became pale. A steady hand upon his shoulder and Jaskier continued. Jaskier’s jaw clenched, the Witcher’s hand providing silent support. 

Renira’s hand came up to stroke Roach’s brushed mane.

“Yours I take it?” She asked. 

Geralt nodded. Roach seemed perfectly content with the woman and Geralt felt a little bit of stress come off from his shoulders. Roach did have a useful ability to sense people’s character. She often opted to bite those she deemed unreliable. As long as one of his family was okay by her standards Geralt could rest easy. The last thing he needed was Jaskier getting hurt. Physically or emotionally. Though by the way Jaskier was tensing up that was already failed. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you brought the Witcher then. The young princess is having somewhat of a horse phase at the moment. She’ll be overjoyed at another horse to ride. Don’t worry I’ll not make you give her up, just one ride would make her happy. Especially such a fine breed. She’s a strong one. I can tell. ” Renira explained. 

Geralt was about to say something about how she wasn’t free to ride but Jaskier was quicker than he was.

“And how is our mother?” He asked. 

His tone was devoid of any kindness. All that joy he felt coming back home melted away as he began to remember why he’d left in the first place. The screaming matches between him and the Queen seemed to go on forever. The bitterness between them. As much as he was glad to be back home the sweet memories were only as good as the awful memories were bad. 

“She did seem genuine in inviting you if that’s any consolation. Trust me. Stefan has changed her, she’s made an effort. Whether or not she’ll apologize is a different matter.” 

She reached out and held his hand. He gripped her hand tighter.

“Thank you, Renira. I’ll make an effort to be civil but if she doesn’t return that civility I’ll be leaving as soon as I came.”

She gave him the look that said she didn’t blame him with an inch of her heart 

After the moments of silence, she spoke. 

“Julian, did you seriously come to the stables before coming to see us?”

“Geralt needed to make sure Roach would be looked after and I needed to look my best.”

“I’ll see to my men personally making sure she’s pampered. You and your husband hurry along.” She tried to move them both along.

“He’s not my husband.” Jaskier muttered. As much as he wanted it to be true. Jaskier looked for the slightest hint of a reaction from the Witcher. He pouted when Geralt’s face made no change. 

“Of course not.” She said, giving him a rather sharp two elbow jabs in the ribs. The two siblings were about to walk out into the courtyard when Geralt cleared his throat from behind him. That low gravelly voice. It startled the princess while Jaskier simply turned to face him. 

“You still need to change your shirt.” Geralt reminded the two of the dirt-covered shirt he was still wearing. 

Looking down he realised Geralt was right. He smiled, he’d be so lost without his Witcher looking out for him. Jaskier, no longer caring to be seen, ripped the shirt from right off his chest. Geralt saw what lay underneath the bard’s top. Geralt only glanced at first. All that walking beside him did wonders for his figure. Having travelled beside each other for so long he assumed he’d know what the bard looked like underneath those clothes. 

Did he want to know what he looked like under that shirt? Under those trousers?

The second shirt stopped any further intrusive thoughts he might have had as it slipped onto his body. The shirt had previously been worn with Jaskier’s red ensemble when they’d fought over the Djinn bottle. One of the few times Geralt had felt true fear. The blood that spewed from his mouth still ingrained on his mind. All the lavender and roses from all the meadows in the land couldn’t get rid of the horrid smell. 

Geralt moved his eyes over to Renira who only raised a single eyebrow. If nothing so far had proved it before the look she gave him cemented it. There was no doubt that the two were related. And this woman was only one of six others. Only the gods could predict what the rest of them were like. 

Jaskier tucked the shirt into his blue waist high trousers and showed off. Renira gave a very enthusiastic nod while Geralt settled for a single solitary approving grunt. 

With all of them dressed up in their best attire, it was time. 

“Well. If you and the Witcher are ready. Let’s go meet mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if you’re wondering how Jaskier can know his baby sister and still have been missing for twenty years don’t worry an explanation will come in the next chapter. Also next chapter it’s finally time to meet Jaskier’s mother. How will our bard react? How will the Queen react to Geralt?


	4. The Throne Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion of Prince Julian of Verden and Queen Melantha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving it as long as I did. I am so sorry! It's here. It will be back on track. I will reread in the morning to beta it better. Enjoy. R&R and all that :D

The Castle of Verden had been around for centuries. 

The throne room felt so familiar yet displaced. The same thrones stood there the same as they had for the past twenty years. Older than the gods themselves. The cold grey drapes and tapestries replaced with the yellow of their crest. The hall was lined with the fire burning torches and yet it wasn’t at it most warming. 

If Jaskier was asked to recall the happiest times from his childhood it would be the banquets. Swirling colours of swirling people as they spun around the room in perfect synchronization with the musicians. Oh, the memories that set ablaze his inspiration. Even entering the room now he could taste the sweet dripping mutton and sweet plum liqueur dripping down his chin as he mingled with the lords and ladies of the court. 

The memories of the people slowly fading out. All of these memories only added to Jaskier’s nervousness at being back at the place he once called home. He’d considered those banquets the last of the good memories he’d had from that time. 

At least back then they’d had fewer guards. As he’d been walking through he’d noticed more guards stationed at almost every door of the castle, if not more on patrol. Even Geralt made one or two comments on the excessive protection. Some of the older men Jaskier recognised from his days as a teen and others who were obviously unacquainted with the castle grounds. The men were far too busy to be looking at him, instead choosing to look upon his personal soldier. 

A small man in red came out from a small back door. The royal messenger blew the trumpet much to the displeasure of everyone in the room. Even Geralt was wincing at the tone-deaf sound. “Now announcing the arrival of Queen Melantha of Verden and Prince Consort Stefan.” 

The Queen entered the room as Jaskier straightened up his back. Both watched as she practically glided towards her throne. Jaskier may have been pretending to play the part of the bard but for a split second her stare to make him feel like Julian again. 

The mysterious woman that Geralt had wondered so much about was finally before them. Both her arms lay flat on the handles of the throne, back perfectly straight. Everything about her screamed that she was a sharp woman. The gown saddled to her figure was the opposite of Queen Calathe’s. While the lioness’ choice of colour was gold the Ruler of Verden chose an almost teal colour, topped with ruby jewels dripping around her neck. Her dark hair feathered with wispy white strands tucked away at the side. 

If Jaskier had to write a song about her he’d write that ‘She had a face hardened by winter with streaks of spring.’

In Jaskier’s experience when the Queen entered a room the air itself changed. As people crossed that line it was as if the distribution of power shifted, the atmosphere instantly striking anyone within the vicinity. The Witcher didn’t need his mutation to figure this out. Geralt looked at Melantha the same way that he first looked at Renira. They had few resembling features but if he had taken one thing from her it was her eyes. Those deep whiskey coloured eyes that reflected the warming sunlight. 

Stefan followed quickly after. He wore similar clothes but they seemed to be a less formal type of garb. A more elderly looking man with more rounded out features on his face. A typical looking husband of a queen.

“Julian,” Melantha spoke. A golden voice coming out from lips coloured by blackberries. “My son is returned to court. Welcome home.”

Jaskier gave an apprehensive look but bowed before his mother. It was the respectful thing to do after all. Geralt saw and followed suit. 

“Welcome back dear boy!” Stefan shot both men a huge grin, somewhat obscured by his beard. If Geralt didn’t know otherwise he would have guessed that he was Stefan’s son, not Melantha’s. Personality-wise they seemed more compatible with each other. 

“Hello, Father. Mother. I am pleased to return home after so long.” Jaskier curtseyed yet again. 

Geralt couldn’t help but notice the way Jaskier’s lips moved. Normally he’d be fast-paced and speak the first thing that came to his mind. Seeing him withhold and speak so formally sat uneasily with him, a rare feat by many standards. 

“It’s been a while. I’m glad to see you again. We can drop the formalities if you wish my son.” Melantha said. 

Both of them looked at each other.

“How has your time away been? It’s been so long since I’ve looked upon your face. Still as young as the day you left.” 

“I can hardly recall that day now,” Jaskier said. 

That was a lie. 

All those years he’d been away and now he was thrust back into this life. The day he left felt like a fever dream. No more responsibilities and certainly no more royal duties. Just himself and his ambition. Thankfully being back was reviving most of the manners that had been drilled into him. 

Learning at Oxenfurt University had been a good learning curve but nothing compared to the experience of the fruits of the world. Royal Banquets were fun and all but it didn’t compare to the thrill of performing for a tavern full of strangers. Living each day song to song and sleeping in a new place every day. A place where no one knew who he was or where he’d come from. An amazingly simple idea. From there, things progressed smoother than he’d anticipated. Moving from place to place and indulging in the vibrancy of city life, the diversity of the people both high and low. Many lovers and many drunk nights later only for one morning to see a brooding white-haired man, drinking alone in a tavern. 

He’d almost thank his mother for driving him out of his own home as in a weird way the worst thing that had ever happened to him ended up being the best. 

“I see you have a lute.” Jaskier’s mother commented. 

He held it out for his mother to see. 

“It...was a gift for Adiris. Not sure how much she’ll appreciate it given the incident that Renira informed me off.” Jaskier couldn’t have replied with more passive venom in his voice if he’d tried. He didn’t miss the falter on his mother’s face.

“I apologize that my message wasn’t received, Julian. She’ll love it regardless. Though I admit her talent for music is still in its early stages. Perhaps you could play for us? I don’t think I’ve heard you properly before.” Melantha asked. 

“You want me to play for you? I...”

Jaskier let his grip on the instrument tighten. Memories of arguments filled his mind. The sound of wood cracking as it burned on the fire, the paint of the lute slowly turning to a charred black. How for a week after he’d felt as though he was a shadow of himself. 

“I insist. If my son has found fame through music. I’d like to hear it in person. Rather than by some half-drunken idiot. Don’t be difficult Julian.” 

He let his anger go if only for a moment. If she was trying that then perhaps it was worth a chance to develop. Despite the seething anger, he felt within him he readies his fingers at the strings. Playing with a much smaller instrument proved a challenge but still, a bard had to work with whatever instrument he was given. 

Once he managed to figure it out he played as he always did. For the first time since coming to the kingdom, Jaskier finally seemed like he was back in his natural element. Even getting a little bit of movement as she moved around the hall. Most of the guards were smiling, already knowing the tune of the upcoming song.

Naturally, if his mother of all people wanted him to play a song then he would. Something fitting for an elegant Queen. 

He’d chosen to play the fishmonger's daughter. 

If it was good enough for Queen Calanthe then it was bloody well good enough for his own mother. Besides nothing would make his mother happier than a song about sex. Considering she had over five children she must have liked it enough. 

Stefan burst out laughing, the guards following soon after. Melantha's face was unsure, lips pursed, swiftly followed by her famous eye roll. Geralt would often find himself with the same face as Melantha but now he was sweetly listening along to the bard’s lewd songs. They’d become somewhat comforting to him. An ambience to the starlit sky they’d camp out under. 

The song came to an end and Jaskier found him in front of his mother once again. He awaited her reaction with bated breath. No doubt for this song alone he'd throw him into the dungeons without a trial. 

“Julian, It sounds...acceptable."

Jaskier kept his words in his throat. For once she couldn’t just say it was good. It was always acceptable or it wasn’t. Still, he wasn’t being thrown in the stockade for it. So far so good as they say.

“I appreciate that statement, Queen Melantha."

The sting of his words evident on her face. She gestured to the Witcher. 

“Is this the Witcher I’ve heard so much about? He seems like he’s kept you in safe hands. A good match. About time.”

Jaskier seemed even more insulted than he had been before. “Well it may have taken twenty years but I’m finally glad to see you finally approve of one of my partners."

The Queen looked a little lost for words. “I suppose it is.”

Geralt stepped up so now he was beside Jaskier. The bard's mouth was only good for one thing. Any time he spoke it acted like pollen that trouble just happened to be drawn to. 

“Queen Melantha. You are as youthful as they say. I’m honoured to be here in the presence of you and your husband.” Geralt bowed before her. Both were taken aback seeing the Witcher. The Queen placed her fingers on her lips, the prince consort sitting forwards in his throne.

To be honest he knew fuck all about the Queen but he would have said anything to take the heat of Julian. 

“You can thank Jaskier’s father for my family's youth. We’d all be old and grey if it wasn’t for him. My first husband. That doesn’t mean my new husband keeps me from feeling young.” 

Jaskier’s finger was twitching more prominently. A small tick that only the Witcher’s senses would be able to pick up on. 

Stefan spoke. 

“I'm glad to see you home. We are very proud that you’ve struck success. I must say at banquets I do always look forward to ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’. And the Witcher himself does certainly look like a friend to humanity. That reminds me of the time I met the Viscount of Vengerberg. It’s a long story but he’s a rather fascinating man.” 

As much as Jaskier wanted to dislike the man that sat beside his mother he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. He was just so infectious when it came to his personality. Even if at times his stories dragged on. 

Jaskier nodded.

“I look forward to hearing about your tales over dinner. If you’re lucky Igri will have returned from Cintra before supper. He’ll be overjoyed to see his baby brother again.” Stefan said. 

“He’s doing alright then with the whole heir to the throne business then?” Jaskier asked, feeling more casual talking to Stefan. 

Melantha interrupted. “Actually Julian, Igri and I have discussed that little matter and-”

The doors from behind the thrones sprung open, interrupting the Queen. A small figure came running out to the Queen’s throne. 

“Mama! My lessons are done for the day.” 

Her arms latched around her mother’s skirt. The Queen’s hand gently stroked the girl's soft hair. Geralt assumed she must have been around the ages of seven or eight. The king rose from his chair to pick the small girl up and spin her around, the Queen looking lovingly at the display from her seat. 

Geralt and Jaskier both noted the discolouring on the left side of her face, blackened skin moving from her ear down to her cheek. To some, it might be considered a burn mark but others it might have been an infection. Either way, it looked painful to touch. The girl grinning from ear to ear as though it didn’t even bother her. 

“Very good my love. Such a smart little girl.” The Queen used her right hand to cup the unmarked side of her face. Melantha looked down with adoration twinkling in her eyes.   
Jaskier refused to acknowledge the jealousy he felt blooming deep within his chest. 

The young princess looked away from her mother only to see the two men staring at her. She awaited her mother’s protective arm to protect her from the two strangers. Jaskier moved forwards to her holding out his hand. The princess was still rife with apprehension. 

“Hello, Adiris...Do you remember me?”

Jaskier wasn’t sure how he’d react if Adiris didn’t remember him. He’d be disappointed for certain but he was somewhat enthralled with the idea that he could reinvent himself to the youngest. Maybe even get one person in this bloody family to call him Jaskier, not Julian. 

Upon hearing his voice the young girl spirited with her arms wide open towards him. Her arms coiled around his legs, almost knocking him over in the process. For a little girl, she was rather strong. 

“Julian! Julian!” 

Jaskier let out a laugh. His hand rested on her head, ruffling her brunette hair playfully. Upon seeing her closer he could now see the full extent of the damage to her face. He supposed her hair was long enough it could be hidden if required. A little bit of makeup to cover the cheek and she made a perfectly presentable princess. Her gaze drifted over to the right. She moved away from Julian’s leg, shifting to hide behind him as if to hide from a threat. 

Jaskier didn’t understand at first. She had no reason to fear. Then it struck him. His partner’s yellow eyes looking down at the girl. What Jaskier would consider his neutral face could look rather intimidating to others, especially to someone as young as her. 

“And big brother’s dear friend. Geralt the White Wolf. He acts really tough but really he’s a big teddy bear.” Jaskier said, placing a hand at the side of his mouth to whisper it to her as an open secret. Despite this, she didn’t seem convinced. 

He grabbed Geralt’s cheek between his finger and his thumb, giving it a little tug. Adiris looked up in fear, that fear turned to awe. Followed swiftly by her arms becoming folded and a pout on her face. A look that was rather unbecoming of a princess. 

“You’re not a wolf. If you were a wolf I could ride on your back! Like in my storybooks.” She motioned her arms to indicate how big she wanted this wolf to be. Jaskier holding back his snicker. 

Adiris was so small compared to him. The princess’ head only reached his lower abdomen. Geralt looked down to the small frightened girl, his hand reaching down to her. The Queen looked ready to leap out of her seat at a moment's notice. The Witcher’s golden eyes locked with the Queen’s. Geralt knew what fear looked like in the faces of those who denied having it. 

He supposed that if he was to be acquiring a child surprise at some point he might as well have some idea of how to handle it. 

Geralt picked the small princess up, placing her so that her legs were around his neck, giving her an impromptu piggyback ride. Her weight was nothing compared to his own strength. It was as though she was unnaturally small for her supposed age. 

“The princess was promised a ride from a wolf. Where to, my lady?” 

Adiris’ face lit up like a beacon of fire. She happily flapped her hands and hugged his head tightly. Geralt felt the tiny hands pulling at his hair

“My room please Lord Wolf! I wanna show you my books and my toys and my work. I wanna show big brother all I’ve done since he’s been away!” 

Jaskier could feel his heart swelling at the display before him. As much as Geralt could deny it the fact still remained he was, in fact, a big softie. After all this time his little sister was still a ray of sunshine, still as innocent as she was all those years ago. His eyes left her smile, moving up to her cheek. An unpleasant reminder that he had in fact, been away. 

“I’ll show you the way, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “Forgive me, mother. We are both exhausted and would like to get to our room. Leave off our things and whatnot.”

She nodded in agreement. 

“Your room is prepped for both you and the Witcher. You can leave the Witcher in the room while you attend dinner with us and your siblings.”

Jaskier couldn’t fathom how she could say that without even a hint of how disgusting it was. Even the prince consort’s face was riddled with uncomfortableness. 

Geralt wasn’t one to often get offended by this. When every drunk and noble in the kingdom despised your kind it was the type of thing one came to expect. Getting drunk was the best way to avoid it. While Geralt often stood for that behaviour Jaskier certainly did not. It was odd, now he’d often find Jaskier’s sword-like tongue there ready to defend any jeering or mockery that came his way. Deflecting insults and making the spewer of bullshit look like a buffoon.

From the way he was walking he was about to use those weapon-like words on his own mother. 

Jaskier stepped closer to the Queen’s throne. The guards must have seen his face as their armour clinked as they moved to protect their Queen. Jaskier looked up to his mother, placing the lute back onto his back.

“Renira didn’t invite him. You did. If you’re going to be a host to both of us the least you can do is invite him to dinner. He has saved my life on multiple occasions. Or have you forgotten? Or it could be perhaps the life of your sixth born means less than the first five.”

She was about to give her reply before her husband grabbed her by the shoulder. She sighed and composed herself, her hands clapping together above her stomach. 

“Yes, yes of course. Witcher, please join us for dinner. Igri was kind enough to extend the invitation to your Witcher. He shall drink with us,” She said to Geralt. “Julian. I expect you there. No exceptions. I do wish to hear your tales too, not just this mutant's battles.”

“His name is Geralt if you ever want to use it.”

Jaskier made his swift exit from the hall, leaving before anyone could even process what he said. The lute on his back facing the Queen as he briskly walked out of the room. The guards looked to Melantha wondering if they should stop him. She shook her hand at them.

Stefan placing a hand on the Queen’s shoulder. The tension only now dissipated from the room. Melantha seemingly shell shocked about how the interaction went down. Her eyes landing on the Witcher, any contempt she might have was blinked away, her gloved hand wiping the corner of her eye. 

“Your majesty.” Geralt wasn’t an idiot. With Jaskier no longer there to speak for them, he had nothing else to say to the woman before him. 

“I...I...We’ll see you at dinner. I look forward to it...Geralt.”

Geralt nodded and with the small princess in tow, the two of them left the room. Geralt’s only hope was that the dinner went more smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: So you know the dinner scene from Shrek 2...


	5. The Dinning Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier attend a family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a hefty chapter so please enjoy.

If he concentrated, he heard the birds calling and the rustling of wind through the mighty pine trees. A forest, much different from those he travelled around. Jaskier had forgotten how beautiful everything seemed when he was high above it. 

The highest peak of his travels being the second floor of an in. From the grand window, he could view the majority of the kingdoms south. A bustling city that expanded into glowing woodlands that went on miles and miles. The warmth of the evening sun splashed across his face.

The sounds of the forest drowned out by a sharp drawn out grunt from behind a screen. 

The familiar sound of Geralt being forced into clothes he really didn’t want to be forced into. Renira had been kind enough to go to their brother’s room and find a fitting shirt. While none of them happened to be in his size Igri probably came the closest to it. Igri had been blessed with broad shoulders so it should be the closest match. 

Geralt finally emerged fully dressed. Jaskier had become accustomed as a teen to seeing many lords and some ladies wearing fitted shirts upon their bodies. At that tender age it made his entire body blush, still as an adult his face turned a familiar colour. The clothes practically sculpting his body like fine aged marble. 

The golden colours complimenting his striking eyes. It suited Geralt just fine. Jaskier was anxious that his gaze would be mistaken for staring. He sighed. The view wasn’t quite as enticing as the times when Geralt bathed but Jaskier wasn’t picky. 

The closer he looked something stood out to him. As Jaskier’s eyes lingered on his chest he noticed something slightly off. 

“You’ve got the shirt buttoned up wrong.”

“It’s hard to bloody tell Jaskier. Is this a device of torture or an outfit?”

_And Jaskier was the dramatic one between them._

“In my experience it’s both. Come here I’ll fix it for you.” 

Geralt stepped closer. He unbuttoned the first one. 

Geralt could have fixed the little problem himself if he so desired it. That being said it wasn’t so terrible seeing Jaskier so close. Months of travelling together he’d grown accustomed to Jaskier’s pseudo mothering. The endearing way he always made a fret over the slightest of things. In an odd way, it provided a small comfort to Geralt, given what his own mother had done all those years ago. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, his eyes looking up, “Promise me you’ll be alright tonight.” 

“Hmm.”

“Please Geralt. I’m serious. I...I fucked up earlier. I should have remained calmer than I did. ”

Geralt kept on staring at him. That unblinking look. In no way did he find Jaskier responsible for the way he acted. Jaskier had simply been defending in the way that he always had. 

“Don’t...let any of them get to you. I’m sure you won’t. You’re...a man made from steel. If they say anything just leave. I’ve learned to accept it but you might throw a table at them.” Jaskier joked half-heartedly.

His hand resting on his chest as he looked deeper into his eyes. Geralt tried to reach for Jaskier’s hand only for him to yank it back himself. 

“Suppose we’d better head down now. Wouldn’t want to keep mother waiting. ”  
-

They were announced as they walked into the room. A small man blowing an unnecessary trumpet and declaring their names.

Jaskier recognized two new figures at the table. The Queen got up and held one hand in the other. 

“I’m glad to see you both here.”

“Marron, Drif. This is Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. World-renowned Witcher. Please, call him Geralt.” 

Both men got up to address the Witcher. 

“It certainly is a pleasure Geralt of Rivia. And Julian. Welcome home little brother.” 

Drif was a smaller man but there was nothing about his stature that would suggest ill intent. Geralt observed a small amount of dirt on his neck. He was a man of the land. 

Like it was easy to see the dirt on his neck it was possible to see the salt sprinkled on Marron’s leather boots. 

Drif was a little thicker in the middle. He seemed a little more refined than his brothers. Not quite as polished as his older brother but still enough to distinguish himself. 

Stilling at the table was beginning to feel like the olden days again. All of them gathered around the table. 

“Where’s Adiris and Stefan? Aren’t they joining us for dinner?”

“Adiris has a meeting with the apothecary. She’s not allowed to eat before her little visits. I insisted that I'd join but Stefan insisted that I go on and enjoy my son being home. So think of it as an immediate family dinner.”

With that being said all of them had taken their place at the table. Jaskier, Geralt and Renira all sat on the left while Marron and Drif were seated to the right. Their mother was naturally at the head of the table. The matriarch of the family. 

The Queen held out her glass. Her family followed her lead. 

“A toast. To a family reunited.”

All of them clinked their glass and took a drink. 

The small drop of wine ran down Geralt’s chin. Jaskier should have felt second-hand embarrassment at seeing Geralt acting as though he was in a tavern. 

Yet he didn’t. 

It was a great comfort to see Geralt still acting like himself despite the difference in appearance. 

Geralt’s eyes landed on Marron. The man pulled a small vial from off his belt. He poured a blue liquid into his cup and swirled it around. Jaskier’s face twisted in recognition of the concoction of the drink. Geralt’s nose twitching at the smell of it. While it certainly wasn’t unpleasant it definitely assaulted his senses. 

“You still use that stuff? I haven’t seen any of it since we were children.”

It wasn’t just Jaskier who knew what it was. All the young lovers in the kingdom were acquainted with it. Those who wanted the party to last for hours and those who wanted to forget their problems quickly. 

“New and enhanced recipe. From one of Drif’s farmlands. Try a little bit. Give a little to your partner. Help him loosen up. He looks as stiff as a soldier seeing a milkmaid.”

The man poured the liquid into Geralt’s glass before he could even voice his opinion on the matter. Geralt often wouldn’t indulge in drinking unknown substances. Despite his unease he followed Jaskier’s lead and swirled the liquid around. 

Both men downed the drink at the same time. 

Jaskier’s face twisted unnaturally. He almost spat out the wine the moment it touched his tongue. There wasn’t a single taste of grape to it if there had been it would be far outweighed by the sheer strength of the alcohol. 

Even Geralt spat the drink back into his cup. Pushing the goblet to the side. All of his siblings snickering at his expense, even Renira laughing at them. 

“By all the hells Drif. What the hell kind of potency elixirs are you making on that farm of yours?”  
Jaskier wiped his mouth with the provided napkin.

“I would appreciate it if you would stop going through the fields. Pick the wrong elixir and you’d be dead before you knew it.”

“Alright spoilsport, keep your britches on. I’m so much of an idiot as to accidentally kill myself.” Marron downed another drink with ease. 

The Queen seemed to be smiling fondly upon her children. 

“I’d have thought the Witcher could have handled a strong drink.” Melantha commented. While to Jaskier’s ears it came as a joke the Witcher wasn't accustomed to the Queen’s way of speaking. It didn’t help that the confrontation from earlier was still plaguing his mind. 

“Does the Queen always have to have an opinion on everything?” 

The light-hearted aura that had been in the room shifted. 

“What was that Witcher? I’m going to assume you didn’t mean disrespect. I was just making a simple observation. Surely you can accept that?” Melantha took a sip from her drink. 

Jaskier tried to glare at his mother to simmer down. He doubted Geralt could be reined in at this point. 

The door was opened wide, the man with the trumpet entered. The same funny little man from before. The hooded man who followed behind him pulled his hood down to his neck. A mop of dark brown hair slicked back into an almost pristine ponytail. His cloak was promptly taken away by one of the servants. 

While the other siblings could pass for lords or ladies it was definitely Igri who was a prince. Jaskier could only look on at the man who was once roughly the same height as him now towering over him. His looks evidently came from his father’s side of the family, only inhabiting the brown eyes that seemed common among the Queen’s children. 

“Prince Igri of Verden has arrived.”

Melantha’s shoulder dropped and her face turned soft. Like the stress of Geralt’s existence was vaporized upon seeing someone more capable of handling it. Jaskier shot his older brother an appreciative nod. 

“Ah, Igri, You’ve come back just in time. Julian has returned.”

“You actually came? I am glad to see you here.” He was trying hard not to look like he was addressing Geralt. Jaskier snapped his fingers twice at his brother.

“Sorry, Julian. I thought you might have had an idea to come alone,” Igri explained, “After all the Witcher is now so famous I thought why not ask him around? I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Jaskier felt like he shouldn’t be as annoyed as he was feeling. Was everyone in this bloody family going to treat Geralt as though he was some kind of freak to be gawked at? The embarrassment he was feeling was on Geralt’s behalf. If this was the way things were going to be he didn’t see either of them staying beyond the wedding vows. 

They all sat as their starters were taken away and not a moment after the main course was brought out. Jaskier almost let out an inappropriate moan at the smell of it. One thing he had missed sorely was the home comforts of food. Even Geralt would have to admit it was far superior to the slop served in the taverns. 

“Well, let’s not just sit here. Let’s celebrate Julian returning home.”

It was at this moment again Geralt noticed a subtle change in Jaskier. Normally where he’d be tearing into the beef before them instead he was holding the knife and fork correctly, cutting it into small pieces and taking a bite. A seemingly insignificant thing yet still shouted volumes.

This prompted himself to look at the food before him. At least with the soup, he’d had some idea of how to be able to eat it but now with three different types of forks in front of him, he was at a pure loss. He was trained with metal and weapons but this type of metal he had no idea of how to work. 

Despite his attendance at the Cintra banquet, he hadn’t actually learned the etiquette. With Queen Calanthe he’d been allowed a little bit of leeway given she herself leaned towards a wild nature herself. He doubted the same courtesy would be extended by Melantha. 

At other royal banquets, others wouldn’t have paid mind but this was the bard’s family. Despite the earlier confrontation with the Queen he wanted to keep things civil. If he could remain civil they’d get back on the road quicker. Better than being imprisoned. 

Jaskier was so busy listing off his tales that he didn’t even see Geralt’s raised eyebrow. He tried picking up the biggest fork as he thought it looked more appropriate in his hands. 

Renira’s eyes glanced left. Geralt’s hand moved accordingly. Her eyes shifted again. When Geralt finally picked the right form he was given a small confirming nod.

He slowly began to eat. It had been a while since he’d used such small cutlery and the difficulty of the task was getting to him. He almost envied how Jaskier made it look so damned easy. 

“Talk to us while we eat. Enthral us, Julian!” 

“Hmm, where to begin in all of it? At the beginning I suppose. It all began with this small little pub. The lady I was staying with told me that she was moving back home so naturally I was forced to get money to get adequate accommodations. That’s where I first met Geralt. I was performing when I first gazed upon those eyes of his. And believe me, the tale of what happened afterwards was my inspiration for ‘toss a coin to your Witcher.’” 

Most of them were hooked on his tale. Jaskier began at the beginning. Their encounter which inspired the hit ‘Toss a coin to your Witcher’ as he moved from all their tales. Renira commented how he should have visited when he was so upon visiting the wedding of Pavetta and Duny. 

Jaskier was excited to show his storytelling abilities to his family. He talked and talked without much problem until he mentioned the Djinn. The revelation of the djinn-cident was met with gasps and disbelief, mostly from his mother. 

“A Djinn! And it harmed you? But the Djinn your father found never laid a finger on you! On any of us!”

“It was a silly little accident. I and Geralt fought over the Djinn bloody bottle. He wished for peace and he certainly got it. His wish was to shut my trap right up.”

Igri piped up. 

“Oh. I heard about that incident on my travels. They mentioned something about spitting up blood. He had silence wished upon him and then”

Melantha turned to look at her son a little too quickly. 

“My son. You were injured by the Witc-,” She paused. “Geralt’s wish?”

“Yes but it was an accident. My mouth always gets me into difficulties. You know that.”

Melantha scoffed. 

“What kind of man wishes for a bard to be unable to speak? That’s almost cruel isn’t it?”

Igri coughed, the spoon clinking against the bottom of the dish. 

“Your senses are heightened? Sight and smell and all that. Fighting prowess?" Igri asked Geralt. 

He supposed it wasn’t the worst question he could have been asked. At least Igri took an interest in Geralt as a person. A relief to Jaskier that another family member seemed to have the common sense for civility. 

Geralt nodded.

The Witcher felt somewhat stiff at being the centre of attention. In the city of the Lioness he was simply the plus one of the bard now he was elevated to the pseudo consort of a prince. 

“Yes…,” Igri said as though he was waiting for a reply. Everyone at the table was waiting for a reply. “Not one for talking, I take it?” 

Geralt looked Igri in the eyes. Despite the eyes being familial there was something almost glacier like about Igri. A coldness he couldn’t quite put his finger on despite his warmth. 

“No.” 

Geralt pushed the unease down his throat for the sake of Jaskier. Chalking it up to his experience with their mother. 

“Ah. I suppose that’s why you and Julian get along. He can do enough talking for the whole family.” 

Igri japed at his youngest brother. Jaskier had his arms folded across his chest, his shoulders hunched in an unroyal manner. The teasing to be expected. 

“Tell me, Witcher, what do you see in my little brother? As Igri said he talks far too much for his own good. Couldn’t be his face so it must be something else.” 

Jaskier prayed it wasn’t going down the road it would normally go down. He couldn’t brush off the sense of Deja-vu that plagued his brain. The way in their childhood that Marron wouldn’t hold his tongue. Renira attempted to kick her brother from beneath the table in an attempt to get him to stop whatever he was about to say. His lips far too loosened by the wine. 

Honest men spoke their minds and truths had no place at a family dinner. 

“Do you like having something to protect considering you lost everything else or do you need someone you can stick your cock into?”

The whole table threw their heads back 

Renira muttering under her breath, their mother placing her head in her hands. Geralt didn’t get shocked at many things very easily but the sheer delivery of his words alone was enough to get him flustered. 

Geralt wasn’t even sure if he should have responded to that question. He’d never pursue Jaskier’s flirting, especially now knowing his royal status. The world had judged him a monster and thus that’s what he was. A murderous creature. The world would see that and reflect that upon his prince. Jaskier was warm and emotional and he deserved someone who could reciprocate these feelings to the extent that he deserved. 

He felt pride as he watched Jaskier unafraid to defend him. 

“You’d know all about that oh Lord of the Sea. Those oysters aren’t as medicinal as you’d like to think.” Jaskier replied without a second thought, eyes cast down for a split second. . 

“Care to tell us how many people you’ve slept with within the time you’ve been away? Oh, don’t think we all haven’t heard about how you’re always sticking your royal wood into the dirty fireplaces.”

“Says the one drunk before dinner.”

“At least I’m not a whore.”

Jaskier dropped his fork to his plate. His appetite left his stomach like it was sucked through a hole. That word he’d heard thrown at him.

Jaskier could have screamed. Jaskier hated himself for feeling stung by the rebuke. Things hadn’t changed and twenty years gone made fuck all of a difference. This bickering as if it were nothing more than a petty argument between two teens. This issue was a part of his life and his brother threw it around as if it were nothing. Those words that acted like handprints on his skin and silence in his throat. 

The Queen turned sharply towards Marron for the first time that night. 

“Marron that’s enough! This isn’t appropriate talk for the dinner table. Your brother is only home and you’d chase him away again.” Melantha said defensively. Jaskier didn’t dare look at Geralt at this moment. He wanted so badly to look for comfort but all he could feel was burning hot shame dripping down his face. 

“Don’t silence me, mother. No, I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this. He abandoned us for twenty years. And he probably would have come back sooner had it not been for this fucking mutant. We’re royalty and we’re being forced to entertain this creature. The Whorish Prince and his mutant bodyguard. You let him get away with it simply because he was the youngest.”

Julian looked his brother dead in the eyes. 

“Just because your Lord of Seafaring doesn’t mean you have to be as drunk as a sailor. Some things haven’t changed I see.” Julian seethed. 

“Both of you stop it.” Renira asked them both. 

Geralt wanted nothing better at this moment to pierce the man from his chin to his naval. The words he was spewing made everyone uncomfortable. The problem being he was the only one capable of doing anything. 

“So what if Julian’s a bard. That’s his private life and is not to be discussed at the dinner table.” Melantha said in his defence. 

“I’ve never met a bard who wasn’t a whore. I don’t think so. Don’t act as though you don’t think the same way mother.” Marron said

The colour almost drained from Melantha’s face. As if the arrow of truth had been plunged deep within her heart. 

“Have some faith in your brother Marron. Julian is still, after all, a prince no matter what he does. He’s loyal to the Witcher if I’m correct.”

“Let’s talk about the Witcher for a second, shall we? We can eat and reminisce all we like but it doesn’t change the fact we’re eating with a monster.” 

“Likewise.” Geralt said without looking up from his food.

As much as Julian appreciated the defence he could already predict how this was going to end. He had lost his temperament yet again. If Marron was already drunk it meant he wasn’t going to hold anything back. And if his memory recalled correctly it always ended with someone having to see the medic. And he didn’t fancy his brother's chances. Even if he did deserve it. 

“I’m sure the people of the kingdom are going to love this. The royal family dining with a Witcher.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt’s anger had passed the point of no return. The way he’d decided to talk about both of them was the final straw. Geralt’s threatening voice striking them all to their core. 

“What did you say to me, Witcher?”

In a way, Geralt was reminded of a small dog. Loud as thunder but a bite that didn’t even break the skin. He put down his knife and fork, turning his whole body to look at Marron. 

“Fuck off you royal cunt.” 

Marron held the knife more tightly in his hand. Jaskier was well aware the tension was finally exploding into the air. With every second that passed, Jaskier’s chances of recovering this dinner got slimmer. 

Geralt could only glare at the pathetic man. His mind was rich in anger not for himself but rather for Jaskier. Geralt’s world had been unforgiving and empty. In the days before joining the bard he felt like a ship without wind, stagnant and rotting away. When Jaskier was beside him he felt things that had been long since forgotten. A time before the Trial of Grasses. 

And that feeling was threatened. 

The Queen rose from the table with fury in her veins, her teeth bared as though she was about to eat his heart. 

“Just because my son spoke to you that way doesn't mean you have to reply in a similar way.” 

“Mother!” Renira finally snapped, standing up for her brother. This left all but three people standing up. 

“Yes, Julian! Control your pet.” Marron sneered at him. 

The Queen’s glare shifted to the right. 

“Marron you’re not helping! I raised you better than that.” 

Geralt brought his fist down on the table, silencing the squabbling between the family members. The wood splintering in all directions. Most of the food on his side of the table splattered on the ground. The noise akin to two rocks crashing against each other. Everyone stepped back, the Queen taking two steps. 

It all seemed like it was about to come to ahead between Geralt and Marron when the sudden clanking of metal drew both of their attention. Their eyes turned to Jaskier, who stood with both of his hands planted straight on the table, his head was downward cast. Evident he was letting the tears stream down his face.

“For fuck’s sake!” He screamed. He left the table, choosing to storm out of the room, the anger practically rolling off him. 

Melantha looked at Geralt the same way she did in the hall earlier. The remorse lining her eyes while still processing her dwindling anger. 

“So...dessert anyone?” Drif asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Fluffy Geralt and Jaskier with the added actual plot!


	6. The Ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier asks for Geralt's help with the musical arrangments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chap before the next chapter which is a heavy one.

Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up in such comfort. Geralt was used to sleeping rough beneath the starry sky, the rocks prodding his back that left him with a dull ache. For once there was no dirt or cold, only warmth and soft plush. As much as he wanted to stay for five more minutes judging by the sun he’d already slept for much longer then he needed. 

Geralt propped up his body as he looked around the room. He was still trying to adjust to the surroundings of the room. The warm morning sunlight that came into the room gave everything an ethereal glow. 

Everything that was in the royal bedroom seemed in place.

Geralt turned to Jaskier’s bed to ask what time it was and possibly complain about a wasted day.

The bard, notorious for sleeping in, had left his bed covers in disarray. Geralt called out only to be met with silence. 

A mousey looking maid entered the room with a bucket and mop. She had begun to mop the floor by the door. 

“Oh!” She almost tipped the bucket over. “Sorry. I didn’t realize the young prince had a guest. Forgive me.” She brushed herself off. Her breath was clearly held as she looked the great Witcher up and down, her eyes looking to anywhere but at him. The man in his nude form.

“Where is Jaskier?” He asked. 

“Uhhhhh…” She was evidently still distracted. With a hand placed over her mouth, she cleared her throat. “Um. Prince Julian was in the main hall last I saw.”

“Hmm.”

The maid had begun to ramble on about something else but Geralt was already half changed. Putting on his shirt and gloves he tied his hair into a manageable pony tale. The maid was still talking by the time he was fully dressed. 

“I can bring you-”

Geralt pushed past her. He could find him for himself. He closed the door behind himself. 

“I’ll be fine.”

If Geralt had a coin for every time he’d been forced to look for the wandering bard he’d have enough to this whole castle. He’d taken the responsibility to ensure the man wasn’t straying too far away. The day always began with Jaskier waking him up with a song. At one point it might have made him want to smash his own skull against the nearest rock but now if he were to live without Jaskier’s music he wasn’t sure he could bear listening to any melody ever again. 

Jaskier was fond of his morning rests. Playing the local taverns and earning their keep did that to him. Using his vocal cords and having to hold a heavy wooden instrument for hours at a time would be a hard feat for any normal person but Jaskier made it look easy. 

He pushed open the double doors and the whole hall had been rearranged seemingly overnight. The throne was now at the very back of the room, leaving a large open space to be filled with tables and chairs inevitably to be filled with lords and ladies alike. 

The smell was the next thing that hit Geralt in the face. It was the same smell that all banquets seemed to have but on a smaller scale. Small meaty flavours all emanating from the room. 

The hall was decorated with the yellow colour he’d seen splashed all around the city. The room was effortlessly elegant. Geralt saw the rush people going about their business. He knew they had other things to be thinking about when they looked him dead in the eyes and didn’t even bat an eyelid to question his presence. 

In the middle of all of the commotion was the bard, ordering people politely around the room. Decorations, musicians and bakers alike. Unusually for him, Jaskier was taking the charge for once. Jaskier’s body in this moment made him feel a warmth spread across his body, seeing him so efficiently taking charge was a pleasurable view. 

If it wasn’t for the bard songbird voice you wouldn’t be able to tell that it was him. The bard was wearing a yellow shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The silk shirt looked heavy, the ruffled hem of it going down the front of his chest like the ripple of a wave. 

He watched as the bard turned to finally face him. His eyes drifted down to Jaskier unable to read his expression as he looked completely frazzled. He wanted to sit him down, to simply sit across from him and gaze into his eyes and go back to their normal routine, and most of all he wanted to do it now. 

“Geralt, thank the gods you’re here. I’ve been running bloody ragged all morning. When this is over carry me to my room.” Jaskier looked more exhausted than he’d ever been before, the excitement from last night still weighing heavily on him. Judging by his eyes he was either lost in thought or drowning in fatigue.

“What are they setting up here?”

Jaskier could tell he was forcing the small talk. Neither of them particularly wanted to talk about last night's little embarrassment. 

“Preparations for the pre-wedding dinner. Renira told me if I wanted to help to smooth things over with my mother I should try taking a role of responsibility. Something about taking the stress away from her. Bloody mother was never one for stress.”

“I’ve been working all morning getting this whole room set up. I’d meant to wake you up but…”

Jaskier seemed to spend his moments looking in Geralt’s eyes.

He focused again on the chairs.

“I thought the wedding wasn’t for another week,” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier let out a long sigh. 

“It isn’t but mother wishes to see the preparations beforehand.

“After last night?”

Both of them had slept off their feelings from the night before. Geralt only had about half a night's sleep before the man in the bed next to him softly sobbed into his hands. It had been as soft as a child that Geralt was torn as to say anything. Eventually, he drifted himself back to sleep. 

“I know Geralt I know. I don’t honestly know what goes through that woman’s mind. No matter. I’ve almost finished. Sorry, I left you alone in the room. You must have been so tired after travelling and I'd thought I'd let you sleep. Among other things.”

Geralt looked so peaceful when he slept. It was a fascinating feature about him. All that anger and frustration that painted his face simply melted away. Peace upon the Witcher’s face like the dawning of a summer morning. 

Both noticed that the music that had been playing in the room suddenly changed. A slow traditional song. Jaskier could feel the will to live leaving his blood. If one more bloody royal song was to play he was going to feed himself to the nearest troll. 

A mischievous spark curled the sides of Jaskier's lips. 

“Join me?” Jaskier held out his hand to Geralt. 

“What?”

“Join me. I want to try a different song. Something a little more lively.” That didn’t sound correct yet Geralt wasn’t aware of the specifics of music so he couldn’t judge. 

“I’m a terrible dancer.” 

Witchers didn’t need to know how to dance. It wasn’t essential to monster hunting. Some Witchers did learn for occasions such as this but Geralt had never seen a need. Monster hunting was not something to be associated with frivolous dancing. 

Unless... you considered monster hunting a sort of dancing of its own. Each swing of the sword was a step to the left and each spell cast was the turning of one's heel. Contorting your body in a daring fight for dominance between two people. Bodies sensually close together, close enough to kiss or to kill. 

Geralt looked down to Jaskier’s hand. 

“We’ll dance terribly together.” 

Jaskier snapped his fingers towards the maestro. 

“You? Conductor lady, sorry, what’s your name?”

The woman who stood in front of the players turned to look at Jaskier’s face. She curtseyed before the prince. 

“Analise. Your highness. The royal composer.”

“Play something fun for us. Please, Miss Analise.”

“Thank you, very well, your highness.” 

The music turned to that which both were familiar with. Something that would have been played in a low-class tavern. Just the way they both liked it. Judging by the expression of the musicians they were ever grateful for the change in pace. 

Geralt allowed his hands to be entwined with Jaskier’s hands. Geralt wasn’t one for giving up control of the situation but with Jaskier, he felt a deep burning trust. 

Jaskier led the dance. 

The beginning between the two of them was rocky. Geralt couldn’t count how many of the steps he was doing wrong. He’d been going to banquets for decades and yet he still didn’t know how to bloody dance. Geralt’s left foot always seemed to be in the wrong place while his right seemed stuck in the same position. Geralt stalled and cursed under his breath. Hunting monsters would be the easy part of his job while doing a dance would be the difficult part. 

“Jaskier I-”

“You’ll get the hang of it. Let me lead.”

And so he did. It seemed the more that Jaskier danced the more he remembered the steps from his past. 

Geralt closed his eyes and took in the feeling. The closeness of Jaskier beneath him. How snugly that Geralt could fit underneath his chin. It fit like a woman's hand would fit a silk glove. 

They began again. The smaller moving around Geralt with ease. It went significantly better than the first attempt. 

Geralt was floored by the elegance of Jaskier’s moves. His body was a flame of a tavern candle as he moved the both of them about the room. The smoothness of his hands gliding Jaskier had built up a surprising amount of strength in his upper body. Geralt still could take him on during a fight but still, he’d shown much improvement from the beginning of their travels. Carrying that damned lute evidently having an impact. 

To watch Jaskier dance was one thing but to be a part of the dance. For once Geralt felt untrained. 

They danced to the music. Geralt felt a smile begin to creep in as he felt he was finally getting the hang of the complicated steps. If he could remember every type of monster it would be easy enough to remember a small sequence. 

It was all going wonderfully in Geralt’s eyes until the bard let out a hiss of pain, Geralt’s foot accidentally stepping on Jaskier’s poor toes. 

The fatal move killed the dance dead. Jaskier grabbing his foot and wiggling it about, the music still playing but much quieter.

“You’ll get better as time goes on. I’ll take you for lessons if you like.” Jaskier’s hands were still no longer in Geralt’s. The hunters' hands moist with sweat. He stepped away from Geralt, giving the man some space, leaning on his as he readjusted his footing. 

Geralt longed to feel the bard's skin on his own. In hindsight, he should have taken off the gloves and held his soft hands. Such delicate hands deserved something soft in return. Not the coarse leather that he was given in return. He had half a mind to reach out again. If only he could just-

“I see those lessons weren’t entirely in vain.” 

The voice had come from the arched doorway. The voice came crashing down on them, forcing the two apart from each other. The musicians, who had been having a wonderful time, silenced themselves like a slit throat. Everyone waited with bated breath as the Queen had made her presence known. 

“Mother! I didn’t realize you were standing there. I was just practising my dancing. Seeing if we had enough room. For dancing. Don’t blame the musicians. I told them to play the music I know it’s not a tradition but I thought-”

She raised her right hand up to the level of her chin, her index finger pointed upwards. 

“Julian. May I talk with you about a private matter?” She asked, her eyes hesitantly moving towards Geralt. She wasn’t completely oblivious to the scene that she had interrupted.

“Is it about last night? If that is the case then Marron compl-” Jaskier’s sharp tongue went to defend himself yet his mother cut him down. 

“Last night is behind us. What I want to talk to you about is the future. The future of this family. If you’ll accompany me to my study.”

The tone was that of seriousness. Jaskier turned slowly to Geralt, looking deeply into his golden eyes. It was tragic how often fates sharpened blade cut short the moments of bliss. He swallowed his feelings and put on his brave face. 

Jaskier feared hearing those words. Undoubtedly his mother wanted him to settle down. The future of the family was often in terms of finding a suitable wife. He knew this day would come to bite him in the ass. 

“I suppose I will see you later Geralt. Don’t wander too far.”

And then Jaskier left, Geralt watched him leave with a sense of something akin to regret. He watched the light shine over his brunette hair and watched the specs of dust wash over him as he walked down towards the door. He watched the way his posture corrected itself. His eyes cast back to the woman walking beside him. 

He bid him farewell with words that were unspoken.   
-

Mother’s private study was always a place of mystery to him. Wooden bookcases were older than all of them combined and books with knowledge passed down from kings and queens. All passed down from generation to generation. It was his mothers and soon it would be Igri's, then his children's and so forth. 

Jaskier was slow as he entered the room. He knew it was terrible manners to be shuffling in such a way but it couldn’t be helped. The ancestral eyes of the room pierced him with every move he made. The ghosts of ancient rulers looking down on the lowly bard prince.

“I never asked how was your journey into the city?” His mother asked, pouring him a filled goblet of mead, not taking one for herself. Jaskier took the goblet suspiciously but sipped carefully from it. 

“Uneventful. A couple of strange characters. I’ll write two songs about them and that’ll put them in their place.” His eyes glancing to her then back to the cup.

She gave a small hum of thought before moving around him with papers in her hand, one particularly large one. 

The Queen unrolled the large parchment on the table. Jaskier coughed as it was rolled out. On the scroll was an intricately drawn map. If he wasn’t wrong it seemed to be the whole city. It wasn’t unusual for the Queen to keep a map in the war room, to keep one in her study was what raised his eyebrow. 

“Let me guess. A person who didn’t speak very highly of me?” She asked. 

His thoughts drifted back to the man on the corner. The one who’d attracted the crowd to him like flies to sugar syrup. 

“He likened you to a serpent. I’m surprised you know about him.”

A groan escaped her lips, her teeth bared for all but a second. 

“Do you happen to recall what perch he was preaching his filth from?” Her tone was venomous. 

It took Jaskier a moment to recall but after looking at the map he remembered. 

“Near the entrance of the city gates. Had quite the crowd too. Bored youngsters mostly.”

He pointed to the nearest merchant which he had seen him on the outside of, the baker’s stall that was delicately painted on top of the map. Her eyes slow to blink as she controlled her breathing, his mother’s fist closed, only uncurling to grab a small white map marker. 

Jaskier placed his cup down on the wooden table harshly as his mother placed the marker. 

“Mother, stop with the secrecy. What do you want? Why call me here? I’m beginning to doubt it was for Renira’s wedding alone.”

She faced out the window of the study, her back to Jaskier. Her hands crossed behind her back, her normally focused eyes plagued by stress and fatigue. 

“You have a higher purpose being here.”

“A higher purpose. Bloody hell you’ve become more cryptic as the days have gone by. I didn’t think Renira’s wedding was that important. I get she’s the firstborn girl but you’re being-”

“You have a higher purpose of being home then simply your sister’s wedding.”

“And that purpose is?” He inquired. 

Her body turned to meet his own, her face painting her vulnerability. 

“I need you to help me stop a rebellion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jaskier's true reason for being called home is discussed.


	7. The Queen's Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's mother reveals the truth.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier asked, his ears unsure of what he’d just been asked.   
.   
“There’s a rebellion in the belly of the city. We need your help.”

A bard could bring people to their knees with their music not fully blown uprisings. Jaskier scoffed and leant on the chair. Rebels of the crown were about as common as finding a Gwent player in a tavern. And just like those mindless card games nothing ever really came of them. 

“Mother, I'm a bard. What exactly do you want me to do? Play a song for the rebels and pray they stop?”

His humour wasn’t met with any obvious reaction aside from a minuscule eye roll. 

“A rebellion is a two-headed snake.” She held up two fingers, each finger with a silver ring. “Each head represents a different part of the people. Those who have already turned against us,” One finger went down. “And those who haven’t.” So went down the other.

Naturally, his mother had a pre-prepared lecture waiting to spring on him. As a teen, he never cared for her mindless lectures. He was sure they had well intentions, filled with how he should be responsible and all that. Maybe she’d had better luck getting through to him through a song. 

Jaskier let out a dangerous sounding laugh.

Years of repressed emotions towards her was on the brink of bubbling up. It all clicked into place. He’d been called to help because of his Witcher. Once again another bloody royal family was going to use Geralt to get out of a mess. All they ever bloody seemed to do was clean up other people's messes. He felt guilty enough that Geralt was constantly having to clean up his mess; he didn’t need the added weight of his family doing the same. 

The invite had specifically stated that he was to be a guest. 

“That's why I was called here. You just want Geralt to help with your stupid little uprising. That’s fucking-”

She slammed her fist down on the table. He was ashamed of how quickly his head went down to look at the floor. His mother's anger wasn’t something to be laughed at. The infamous Queen of Verden was known to have the temper of a harpy when she had been wronged.

“If I’d have wanted Geralt I’d have called for him in particular. I didn’t. I asked for you. I asked for my son. Geralt was simply invited if he had wanted to come.”

Jaskier locked his gaze with hers. As he stared her eyes didn’t change from their hard stare. He leant back in his seat but kept his arms folded. 

Despite his wanting to see any hint of her lying all he could see was the honest truth. 

In his history of living with this family, there were always people who wanted them dead but the royal council always saw them dealt with before they became a problem. Only twice had his food been poisoned. To be perfectly honest he’d probably only had more attempted assassinations since leaving rather than when he lived with his family. 

“What makes this rebellion any different?” He asked. 

Jaskier thought through every situation and all his thoughts lead to the same conclusion. The same damning conclusion.

“Unless this one is different. You wouldn’t take action unless someone came close to actually doing it.”

A rare occurrence. Sure people talked big games about their rebellions and some even took action in the city but people wouldn’t dare take action against a member of the family themselves. Those who came close never got the chance to see the next sunlight. His mother would always have them on the chopping block before the next sunrise. 

“A girl managed to sneak in. She was posed as a maid. The sneaking little bitch brought in fire slugs.”

Travelling with Geralt he was aware of many of the horrible smaller creatures. By far the worst of them was the fire slugs. The nasty little creatures often used for medical purposes. Their blood was said to burn out infection on cuts and wounds and cauterize the wounds. Medics, however, would only use them as a last resort if necessary. 

There was only one time Jaskier had seen the after-effects of a slug that wasn’t used for medicine. It had been a traveller in a cave, some unlucky bastard who’d been on the hunt for dragon eggs. The fool had taken off his shoes in the water barefoot and the slugs had done the rest, crawling up his legs they left the flesh burning and putrid. They slithered their way up to his ears and burrowed their way deep inside to his brain. 

His liquefied eyeballs had dripped down the side of his face. The entirety of his forehead was blackened by the ash. A small so putrid even Geralt gagged at the scent. Jaskier was almost certain he’d passed out at the smell but that was a time he couldn't really remember. 

In his focus on the memories, she’d pulled out a jar, a faint glowing aura coming from it. There were three dead slugs squirming on the inside of the jar, two living. They hissed at Jaskier. 

She turned the jar, her eyes filled with contempt. 

“Can you imagine the pain that would bring? And on a child no less. We are dealing with people without mercy.”

Jaskier’s whole spine felt the chill going down it as the realization hit him like a flash. Both of his hands went to cover his mouth, positive he was going to throw up. 

This was different from any assassination. Oftentimes in the past, they’d always either try to kill the king or the queen. One did not simply try to kill the children. Any royal past the age of sixteen was fair game but anything under was despicable, let alone a seven-year-old. If the leader of this rebellion was heartless enough to attempt to kill a child they would stop at nothing until the rest of them were dead. 

Jaskier swallowed. “Her scar...her deformation was caused by the attempt.”

She nodded. Jaskier supposed that explained the tired look in her eyes. He groaned before sighing. 

“But why me? Surly Igri is responsible for dealing with both heads of this metaphorical snake.”

Igri, being the firstborn, was certainly more than well equipped to deal with things like this. Hell anyone but him would be better at this. This was all politics and soldiers. He was about carefree fun and having a grand old time. 

“We brought the girl who made the assassination attempt to the dungeon. We found she was a girl of 15. When we threatened her with death she spilt her guts. She told us the vast majority of the people within the rebellion are around her age, being led by people older than them.”

Jaskier let out a relieved sigh. In terms of punishments for an attempted assassination of a royal, it was surprisingly light. In the past, the Queen had done worse for less. 

“I consulted my war council and they came up with an idea. In order to stop young people from turning towards these rebels, we must make sure that they are otherwise occupied. Reports from Drif say the young people working on his farmlands enjoy singing and dancing in their spare time. This sparked an idea within the council.”

Jaskier could see the formation of the idea. The bile was rising up in his throat. All the anxiety culminating with his mother’s next sentence. 

“I want you to set up entertainment in Verden. Your charisma can help steer young people away from groups such as this.”

He blinked in surprise.

“Like what exactly? You can’t just say entertainment and leave it at that? Do you mean Theatre, music or something else?”

A small pocket-sized book was handed to him. As he flicked through the pages he was genuinely surprised at the amount of thought and research that had gone into the book. There were drawings of old taverns he’d played in, old places he’d wished he could have performed in and even small sketches of where it would be placed. 

“A theatre company, some stages for musical talent and other things. Whatever keeps the people entertained? You’ve travelled and known what people like. You know better than anyone else what we need to do.”

While there had been entertainment none of these had been funded from the crown itself. A project funded by royalty itself had great potential. He could have seen it now. The people lining up all over the city to see him playing in his home. The feeling of making people smile far and wide, from the highest of mountains to the deepest of sea beds. 

It was all Jaskier had ever wanted. A dream that was killed stone dead for almost two decades. 

“Why can’t anyone else do that?”

“Well, it's obvious they're mad at the main family. If they see a Prince putting money and time into entertainment then they’ll see the family well and also be occupied. It’s a double victory. You haven’t been seen for twenty years. You can make a good impression on them. They’ve already made their minds up about us but you, you’re a blank slate.”

Jaskier remained silent. 

Melantha took off her crown and put in on the table, her hand cupping his cheek. Her hand soon retracted back to her chest as soon as she saw his glared daggers. 

“We haven’t gotten back on the best of terms. I understand that. I do want to try and fix things. I might not get them perfect but I’m trying. I thought you’d like that, bringing music to Verden. It could be a bonding activity of sorts.”

Jaskier was still in the process of deciding if he should be hysterical or enraged. Both seemed appropriate. 

“You don’t have to forgive me for the things I have done in the past but please consider helping. Not for my sake but for the safety of Adiris.”

“I...The things you’ve said to me.”

His mother stepped away from the table. 

“I’m not going to pretend I didn’t say those things because I did and honestly-.”

He interrupted. He feared if he dwelled on what was said in the past then he’d say something regretful.

“Why now? The scar looks like it happened long ago.” 

Jaskier wouldn’t have been surprised if the windows frosted up with how the temperature of the room dropped. 

“In the next couple of months, I will be more vulnerable. I need as much help as I can get.”

Another truth came from his mother's mouth. 

“You’re vulnerable. How so? Are you down with the plague?”

A joke might have at least provided some 

Out of all the things he expected her to do her hand placing itself upon her stomach was low on the list. Only now did Jaskier notice the slight bulge of her form-fitting dress. The kind that you would only notice if you were looking at it. He blinked at the bump, shaking his head. 

Jaskier was going to have a hell of a song to write once this wedding was over. 

“Another one to the stronghold.”

His mother’s face turned a ghastly shade of white. 

“Please do not tell Igri what I’m going to tell you. He knows I’m pregnant but he doesn’t know I’m not keeping it. ”

His mother had a proclaimed love for children. She’d had enough of them to be proof of that. 

“You’re getting rid of it? Have you told Stefan? What is your reason?”

“No! Not like that at least…”

Jaskier gave up his seat to his mother. The emotions taking a toll on her. 

“I requested a witch to come to the city. The rebels have gotten bolder with each passing day. Igri has tried and failed to get control of the situation. So we made a deal. The leader of the rebels will be defeated when I give the witch a child. Then the kingdom will be safe. In fact, the only reason I’m telling you is that you understand witches and monsters. Your siblings wouldn’t understand. They’d talk me out of it.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide with shock. In all his years his mother had proclaimed her distaste of anything monstrous, now she was going to give a child to Witch just to protect her family. 

“Bloody hell. Things are that bad?”

“I don’t know how they’re organised but they have gathered a following. Any other time we’ve been able to nip it in the bud but now it’s too far gone. They’ve got resources to spare.”

Someone had finally matched wits with his mother. Whoever was the leader of this rebellion was sharper as a blade and cunning as a fox. 

She grabbed his hand with both of her own. A pleading look was shot his way. 

“Now you know. Will you help me, my son?”

Jaskier strayed away from the table. It was definitely a lot to consider in such a short space of time. The shock was waving over him like he’d been dropped in a winter’s lake. Emotions were threatening to drown him if he continued. 

If he were to hypothetically go along with this plan then he wanted to do it on his own terms. He was Jaskier the Bard! A famous musician who came from nothing. He didn’t want to be Prince Julian Pankratz. A prince who used family money to buy his way to the top. 

Besides the fame and fortune aside these people were credible threats. Despite his dislike of her methods she kept them safe throughout their childhoods. If that safety was being threatened of course he wanted to help in any way he could. Despite everything he still had fond memories. Memories of playing with Adiris as she was learning to talk, Renira helping him dress up for banquets...Sitting in on his mother and fathers official meetings. 

He clutched at his heart gently. To devote his time and effort to something that had once run him out of his own home…

“If I refuse?”

Once again they were where they had been twenty years ago. Jaskier refused his mother’s demands and they were at odds with each other. 

“Refuse?” 

The Queen was taken aback as if the concept of his refusal wasn’t a possibility. 

“You were a cunt to me and you just expect me to do this for you?”

Despite everything that he’d heard he still wasn’t convinced. All that rage and hatred from his teen years was still there. If there was a time to address it, it was now.

“Julian!”

Jaskier couldn’t let the words be unsaid. He should have said it the moment he stepped into the queen’s hall.

“No you are going to listen to me. You did everything in your power to drive me out from my home when I was still a child. Even since coming back, you’ve been nothing but awful to Geralt and myself. Granted I can see you’re trying but you do not get to just say those things and expect everything to be alright between us! That is not how the story goes. Giving me a project isn’t going to make everything all sunshine and unicorns.”

“I am so sorry.” She said, her tone soft. Perhaps the most honest tone she’d ever had. 

His mother had never been sorry for a single thing in her life. Even before her husband had died it was very unlikely that she would have been wrong about any subject matter. 

“I...I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have thought of me all these years.” she continued. 

“You can’t just-Don’t you even-” 

“Say what you were going to say. You’ve already called me a cunt so anything else must be an improvement.”

One of his mother’s attempts at humour. To anyone else, it might have sounded sardonic but he understood what she was trying to do. 

He thought of only one thing at that moment that she could do to begin fixing things. 

“Apologise to Geralt.”

It was Jaskier’s mission to show that he was a friend of humanity and goddammit he was going to do it. 

She went to scoff but coughed it back. The Pankratz stubbornness showed rather evidently. 

“He’s a Witcher. I’ve accepted Witches but Witchers are still a-.”

“Then good luck when the rebels storm the castle with their army of hormonal teenagers.”

To emphasise his point he turned to leave. She grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned back to face her. The regret was evident on her face.

“Very well. I will apologise to your Witcher. I will make Marron apologise too. Now, will you consider my offer?”

He’d gathered a keen eye in his teenage years for spotting his mother making false promises. There was no reason not to trust her and yet…

The doubt plucked at his brain like the sound of snapping of lute strings. A single night of apologies did not make up for twenty years of silence. The optimist in his saw how bloody hard she was trying and by the gods she was. Even if it wasn’t the right way to do it the effort was there. 

“Mother…”

“It was wrong of me to put you on the spot like that. Please take your time to consider it. I understand if you decide not to after all this time.”

Jaskier sighed. His hand rubbing over his face. Those were the words he’d been longing to hear and yet they still didn’t feel right. It was too much for him to consider agreeing too right now. For once he took a leaf out of Geralt’s book and decided to approach with logic instead of emotion. The diplomat in him came out for what must have been the first time in years. 

“I...The end of the week. You’ll have an answer by the end of the week.”

Her lips opened but she promptly pursed them together again. A small nod followed. “That is all I ask.” 

“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?” Any other business might as well be addressed seeing as they were sharing. 

“No...Just know...I’m trying. I may not get the right words with your Witcher but I want to try.”

“I know.”


	8. The Back Courtyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier discusses his choice with Geralt

Geralt was only mildly surprised to find himself at the back of the castle. The back of the castle that lead into a vast expanding woodland. The musty wooden tone wasn’t entirely unpleasant to him. 

He stood beside the castle’s woodhouse, a building which had undoubtedly seen better days. Additionally, with an iron fence that stretched into the horizon, it still felt terribly claustrophobic. Geralt squatted down and picked up another log from the pile, kicking the half logs out of the way. 

With the slamming of his axe and the ringing of the metal, Geralt almost missed the faint sound of an instrument. The voices grew frustrated, hitting several sharp notes in the process. Geralt kept the axe firmly in his grasp as he went to investigate. The noises growing significant as he approached. 

Jaskier’s back stood to the cobbled wall, an air of annoyance surrounding him. Soft fingers were plucking away at his instrument to no avail. 

Geralt swallowed a sizeable lump in his throat, he had steeled breath and entered the area. 

“How...Was your mother?”

He only spared Geralt two small glances. One to his eyes and one to the axe. His plucking slowed to an almost stopping pace. 

“Fine.”

It was a snappy response. Even by Jaskier’s standard of pettiness, it was almost unheard of. 

The bard could be sassy and arrogant and rude. Never snappy. 

Geralt had had years to study man. Every single emotion that had crossed his face he’d seen at one point during their travels. Jaskier’s face was a canvas on which his emotions would be painted with vivid strokes. The ecstasy of joy at the Calanthe ball, the wave of fear as blood spewed from his mouth and the devastation after their fight during the dragon egg quest.

Jaskier sighed, his eyes cast to his shoes, and a mumbled apology left his lips. Jaskier lowered his head as he faintly chewed at her lower lip. Jaskier took a few deep breaths to gather his thoughts, his desire for help with this outweighed his urge to keep Geralt in the dark. To the naked eye Geralt wasn’t that compassionate but after knowing each other for twenty years he surely would help him in his time of need. 

“Have you ever regretted a decision?”

Geralt had made many decisions but not a single one he’d ever thought back on. Regrets meant having to look back. Witchers only had one job, to sly those who harboured ill will towards their fellow men. There wasn’t much to regret about that. Perhaps he regretted the Calanthe banquet 

“I do what I do and have few regrets.” 

It may not have been what he wanted to hear but he needed it. 

Jaskier’s hand flinched, causing the string to make a sharp noise. He placed the lute on his back. If he plucked it any more it would have snapped. 

“My mother has faced me with a rather difficult choice.” 

“I’m was in a similar situation.”

“Oh?” 

Geralt sighed. 

“My own mother.” 

Why this sudden urge to talk about his mother surfaced he had no idea. Something about seeing Jaskier acting so unusually made him want to ease his mental suffering. While his advice wasn’t as solid as his strength he was still willing to try. For Jaskier. 

Jaskier had always told him what his mental image of his mother might have looked like. At a first glance, he had considered that perhaps she would bear his golden eyes and ash like hair. Only to realise that the mutations had caused that within him. Still, he hoped that she would have been a kind woman. The kind of woman that made stew for her children or let them take fresh apples from the cart. At least Jaskier’s mother didn’t abandon him till he was older. 

“You never talk about her that much.” 

Jaskier found a little amusement in it. The fact that Geralt barely knew his mother and in the span of a couple of days he already knew a great majority about his. There’d be a better chance of finding a dragon then ever meeting the rest of Geralt’s family. 

“No reason to. I was abandoned, tortured and mutated beyond repair because of her.”

Geralt’s grip lightened subconsciously on handle of the axe. 

“Oh, dear.” In spite his blunt statement, the bard awkwardly giggled. It wasn’t a mocking giggle, it was more so in the vein of ‘I should not have asked that.’

Jaskier lowered his head, hands no longer fidgeting.

Geralt never liked the silence that came with Jaskier’s low moods. It was as though all the birds in the forest stopped singing all at once. 

“I’d still talk to her. Find out why she did what she did. I think I might have once…I’m not sure.”

“It’s your choice.”

Jaskier considered it. If someone as strong as The White Wolf was reasonable he could be too. Despite everything he couldn’t fault her lack of trying. 

“Suppose there isn’t much harm. At worst my entire family ends up on spikes and at best I repair things and we all live happily ever after.”

“You’ll make the right choice whatever it may be.” Sadly there was seemingly no solution to their mutual problem for the time being. This was definitely a good start. 

Geralt’s hand rested on Jaskier’s shoulder. He supposed that whatever choice he did make as long as Geralt was by his side it would feel like the right one. Jaskier moved Geralt’s hand up to his face, the tender warmth of his hand said more than any song could. Geralt’s hand was perfectly sized for his face. 

A true testament to their relationship was how easily Geralt could have seen him dead with a simple snap of his neck. Yet here he was, giving him advice and being here with him. 

“You’d like to hope so.”

It had been a while since the two had an honest to goodness moment alone. Being in a castle was no match for the outdoors. Even if it was just them in their room they privacy was scarce. A maid could be walking around any corner at any time. In the woods there was freedom to be as loud and as rough as they pleased. 

To sacrifice comfort for privacy or privacy for comfort? A great question the universe. 

It was at moments like this Jaskier just wanted to reach up to Geralt’s face and kiss-

“Juli! Where are you?”

A child’s young voice came from the courtyard, underneath the arch of yellow roses. Jaskier looked through the gate, his sister running around the courtyard looking high and low for him. Alas as he suspected he couldn’t get a moments privacy. 

They left the little place and made their way through to the grand back courtyard. Geralt noticed many gardeners, all of them keeping the place in pristine condition. 

His youngest sister ran up to the both of them, Jaskier’s present in hand. The girl wearing a more casual dress, a sign that she’d been very studious today. 

“Adiris? Is everything alright?” Jaskier asked. By the way she’d been yelling he’d assumed something awful had happened. 

“I’ve learned my first song!”

The pride blossomed in Jaskier’s heart. As an added bonus for him personally she seemed to actually be enjoying it. 

She had begun to play her little song but he wasn’t focussing on the music. His eyes wandered down to the scarring on her face. The black cracks, upon closer inspection, had burrowed deep into her skin. His thoughts turning to how one person could harbour such hate for such a young girl. Even if she was a princess she was still but a child. 

“I’ve already shown Marron and Stinky head. Did you like it Mr Wolf?” 

The corner of Geralt’s lip upturned. “A good start.”

“Stinky head? Who’s that?” Jaskier asked. The humour definitely was a rare genetic trait within their family. With both her musical and comedic talent she was on her way to becoming a smaller version of him. 

Igri and Marron both made their way towards them. Igri with his stride as proud as a lion’s ad Marron’s sluggishly slow. 

Marron was the first to comment. “I’m sorry did I see you and the Witcher coming from the woods? Brother, you’re home now. You don’t have to do it in the woods now. Much less risk of catching a sickness indoors.” Marron words had a slight slur on them. Again. 

“Do what?” Adiris looked to both of her older brothers. 

Jaskier was already seething but he was but moment away from using his bloody lute to smash him over the head with it. 

“Well you see Adiris what happens is that Julian takes the Witcher’s wood and-”

Igri smacked Marron on the back of the head. The leather glove smacking off his head. 

“Just because you’re the lord of sailors doesn’t mean you act like one.” Igri chastised. Needless to say, Igri was not enthused with the behaviour of his bother. 

“Brother Igri!” She’d opened her arms for a hug. Igri passed by the princess, coming face to face with Jaskier. 

“We came to find you. The architects have finished the construction of the Pankratz Theatre. You’re coming for a look.”

Flabbergasted, Jaskier stood there motionlessly as his brain failed to comprehend the words that left his lips. He had not even been given the opportunity to make his decision and yet his mother had already agreed on his behalf. If that was the case he would leave immediately.

Igri, sensing his line of thinking, corrected himself. 

“The building was already under construction before you came back. We just thought you’d like to see it. You did bring up the concept all those years ago. It’d be fitting you see it before it has its opening night.”

Jaskier relaxed. 

“Great. Why is the arsehole coming with us?”

As much as he was family Marron was never the most intelligent of them all. He certainly never cared about the arts either. As much as Jaskier wanted to grow and spread his music Marron had always been the opposite. Always looking for a fight, wanting to be a soldier or a commander. Alas the medic diagnosed him with a weak heart at the tender age of fifteen and those dreams plummeted like a heavy orc of a tall cliff. 

Marron scoffed and pointed to himself. 

“This ‘arsehole’ had to divert two months’ worth of wood shipments for this bloody project just so our mother could shut her mouth about this whole thing. I might as well see what my men were wasting their time on.”

Jaskier supposed there was no harm in checking out the theatre. It seems she was true to her words about fixing things. He still found it quite unusual that it just so happened to be finished around the time he’d returned home. He could only aspire to have a mind as sharp as his mothers. 

“Very well. Geralt do you want to come with us?”

Geralt threw the axe into the grass, no doubt making extra work for the gardeners. Marron stepped back three paces. Igri stood his ground, his focus still on Geralt’s face. 

“Oh come on. Let him frolic in the woods or something. He’ll be happy with that.” Marron waved his hand as he began walking away. 

“Didn’t mother give you hell this morning for saying things like this?”

“Fine. Whatever you say ‘Future king’ of Verden.”

Whatever he was expecting him to say apparently shocked him given his semi-raised eyebrows and pursed lips directed towards the drunkard. It was inside joke neither of them seemed invited to enjoy. The daggers that Igri glared put aside he focused back on Geralt.

“Well Geralt? Will you join us?”

Geralt nodded. It seemed unwise to refuse. He’d been with Jaskier for the past twenty years. To separate from him now would be...unpleasant. 

Jaskier picked up Adiris and swung her around. A newfound joy suddenly showing form his face. 

“Alright. Onto the Theatre!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap: A trip to the Theater.


End file.
